


Wild Rose

by Annetictac



Series: The Shirelings [1]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Always-a-lady!Bilbo, Awkwardness, Cute baby Frodo, Everyone Is Alive, F/M, Family, Fluff, Fluff overdose!, Fun, Naughty!dwarves, Post - BOFA, Romance, Sexy Fili, almost-a-queen-Bilbo, baby! Frodo, fem!Bilbo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-05
Updated: 2014-08-08
Packaged: 2018-01-11 07:46:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 71,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1170512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annetictac/pseuds/Annetictac
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After BoFA, a deal is to be made between the Shire and Erebor - all due to Bilba's suggestion. Hobbits are asked to migrate to heal the land Smaug destroyed. And Fili? He was just trying to reinforce intercultural relations.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are encouraged, kudos wanted, questions welcomed and corrections noted.. ! But as always, be polite ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reposted with new text 16/02/2014.  
> Updated 19/02/2014.
> 
> Beta: crashlandthetardis. (Many thanks :D)

 

The cold outside did nothing to tamper the enthusiasm of the hobbits in face of the festivities. Bilba had told them, a long time ago, when they had still been on an impossible looking quest, under the terrible darkness of the Mirkwood trees , of that dreaded winter when so many had fallen. It had not been the best place to share about such a frightening time, but she had quickly continued to blabber about her cousins, who she cared for above all else. Fíli took a deep draft from his pipe, content to be sitting where he was. The bench left him wanting for nothing – except perhaps… He was strategically placed near the food and the ale. His personal favorite part of the bench was that he was in the best place to observe the improvised podium where the music came from.

 

A year ago, he had heard Bilba’s stories with eagerness, for it was contagious to get excited by the hobbit lass. He and Kíli would wait patiently for darkness to fall, to lay their mats near Bilba’s, and to trade stories of their own. He had heard the merry stories of hobbit lasses like he used to hear the fairy tales his mother told Kíli and himself when they were little, or the stories Thorin had told them when they grew out of fairies and magical beings, and eventually the history Balin tried to hammer down their heads. They were far away facts. Good to know but with no direct effect, ready to slip to the back of his mind. They were a soothing balm for their spirits after a long day spent wandering through the evil darkness. He truly hadn’t imagined Primrose as a real, breathing, solid being.

 

Maybe it would have been different, if Bilba had told him about Rose’s grin when she got her way, or the way her eyes would soften when Frodo fell asleep in her arms. She had certainly not mentioned the curve of her back, or the sweet smell of the back of Primrose’s neck. He had not imagined how well those fine fingers could fit in his, or the way she would blush when she noticed him staring.

 

Which took him where he was now, staring. Again. That much he knew, even if Kíli insisted on telling him so every other minute, either with a shove, a knowing smirk, or a loud snort. Fíli tried engaging in conversation with his fellow dwarves or with the Tooks at their table, but it would not do. His conversation would fall quickly, with Nori or Bofur taking it where he left it – which he appreciated – and Kíli giving him not so subtle hints. His eyes would drift away on their own accord. The one responsible for his dreamless nights was oblivious to the effect she carried with her, she probably still thought him to be teasing her.

 

Her fingers moved quickly, strumming the cords of the small stringed instrument held in her lap. Rose had changed instruments once again, he now counted four. So far she had played the flute, a fiddle of sorts, the bells, and now the small harp. She would sing a song or two, trading off with her fellow musicians. Bilba had already told him that her cousin was greatly admired for her expertise in music. She rarely played at home, probably because of Primula, but she could easily collaborate with his songs if Kili asked – often with a loud whine for hearing the ‘same old songs’. If you tried to compliment Primrose for her lovely voice, she would chuckle nervously, toy with a strand of hair and maybe blush, dismissing the flattery. She would say that it was one of the few talents she held and would change subjects. It was a lovely sight to see her singing. She didn’t pay any special attention to the audience, her eyes held shut tightly. However, her voice lulled the room when it softened, and brought it to life as it rose. When she sang, the dancing floor would fill. Many couples danced to her tunes, making her the puppet master of their movements.

 

“The lass never rest?” Bofur questioned to his left. They had been drinking and eating since they arrived. Bilba had given a tour, greeting old relatives and friends she had yet to see. She had dropped soundly between Nori and Bofur, taking the latter’s hat in her possession. Dwalin had suspiciously disappeared yet again, Fili noted.

 

“Maybe later,” Bilba said, taking a gulp of Nori’s ale, earning a shove from the red headed dwarf. She smiled innocently, taking another gulp. Nori rolled his eyes, and stood to pick them both another cup.

 

“Oh, it had been such a long time since she sang!” One of Bilba’s cousins said with a dramatic sigh. “Not since Poppy’s wedding!” The hobbits by her sides nodded absently.

 

“What if one wants to dance with her?” Kíli asked besides him. Fíli knew his little brother was not directing the question to him, rather to their burglar. Bilba laughed, not fooled by Kíli’s discretion. She had been making very clear remarks to him all night. Fíli's attention was reclaimed by the object of his interest. Primrose took a second to push a disobedient dark lock away from her face, her eyes opening and meeting his before her deft digits resumed the merry song and her golden gaze was lost from his.  He sighed.

 

“Then you better be ready, for when she stops, many will fight you for it,” the golden haired hobbit lass answered merrily, her form moving to the music with a wide smile on her face. “Rose started playing music to avoid suitors and the only good it did was to make them pile up!” At this, she stood from her place, grabbing the younger dwarf’s hand taking him to the dance floor. Before they got away, he managed to hear a pun about elves for his brother and a wink for himself. Poor Kíli would never outlive his infatuation with the guard from Mirkwood.

 

He finished his drink swiftly before standing, already loosing hope to share some time with Primrose. Yet when his eyes drifted to check on her, he noticed her absence from the podium. Another hobbit was singing sweetly in her place, almost humming.

 

“Master Dwarf,” a known voice whispered from behind. “You are not planning on leaving, are you?” He noticed her teasing tone. Fili turned to find her grinning widely, golden eyes still dancing merrily, which made him smile in return, his heart already feeling light, fluttering away.

 

“I wouldn't dream of it,” he lied quickly, not wanting to disappoint. She gave him a full grin, which made his heart miss a beat or two. He couldn't help but feel a bit weak before her dimpled smile, her sparkling golden eyes. The idiot hobbit who tried courting her, Hildigrim his name was, had said they were like warm honey. But Fili knew best, they looked like melted gold, bright and clear. His poetic reverie ended when he felt her pulling him towards her. For a second his ever hopeful heart thought she was about to kiss him, his eyes widening. But she turned quickly, without releasing her hold on his sleeve. He shook away his thoughts, feeling silly. Many times Primrose had said that hobbits were very prudish in public, though it didn’t mean they were shy from private trysts. She had blushed a lovely shade of pink after she remembered to whom she was speaking. The current holder of his attention hurried them to the door, discreetly glancing to the sides. “Are we being hunted?” He couldn't help but ask when she opened a door and pushed him without much ceremony outside.

 

“You owe me a dance,” she explained as she checked if they were truly alone. When she was sure, she walked to him and stopped with a few inches between them, hands on her hips and a determined look on her face. His hands itched to touch her and close the distance, but he waited for her like he had done since he met her. He was so very close to tasting her, that he knew with certainty. There were a precious few times he had actually managed to steal sweet, short kisses from her pouty lips.

 

“I thought dance floors were made for that purpose,” Fíli teased with a smirk, pleased to be able see her cheeks blushing with the little light they had. Nervously, she brushed her hair away from her face.

 

“It’s not proper to dance more than one piece with a male that’s neither your husband nor kin,” she recited smartly, not noticing her slip.

 

“Isn't it presumptuous of you to assume we’ll be dancing more than one piece?” He questioned with fake outrage, his smirk widening along with his ego. She gave him a friendly shove on his chest, only to have her dainty hand trapped by his. Her eyes widened ever so slightly, her face feeling hotter than ever at the sudden touch. His unoccupied hand, by its own free will, moved to caress her warm cheek with the back of his knuckles. Something soared in his chest when he felt her lean to his touch, both face and body. How many nights had he laid awake, thinking about touching her and hearing what little sounds of pleasure he could get from her? During daylight his idle fingers would act on their own accord when she was near, finding excuses to touch her hair, to caress her arms, to hold her waist. At their gardening lessons, he had boldly pressed his lips to hers a few times.

 

“Fíli,” she whispered sweetly, her eyelids dropping shut. It took him less than a second to close the distance. It was the only permission he needed, for he had waited too long to truly claim his prize. His lips found hers swiftly, earning him a surprised hum from her. He tried to control his desire, to fill his needs without scaring her away, but as soon as she gasped, his tongue slipped inside of her mouth marking her as his. How sweet she was, how very malleable her tongue felt against his! She quickly followed his exploration with her own. Her hands found their way to his coat, pulling him impossibly closer. One of his hands trapped her waist in place, and the other moved to touch the back of her neck, immersing in the wild chocolate mass of curls of her hair, ever so soft.  Whatever control he fooled himself into believing he possessed left his body when she moaned and bit his lower lip. She panted when they parted, her eyes still closed, her lips red and swollen from his attack. It was the way she was supposed to be, he told himself. He took her lips again and again, daring her to stop him, but she complied every time.

 

He groaned, feeling his body awake and burning at her touch, his trousers tight, his control slipping. Her fingers touched softly at the juncture of his neck, slipping inside of his coat, giving him shivers and burning his insides all at once.

 

When air became an issue they parted, but he continued to explore the surface of her face, the line of her jaw, and eventually her neck. His hands longed to touch what she so willingly offered, his fingers tracing the sides of her exquisite breasts. She whimpered and moaned sweetly in his ear, encouraging the touch. His hold on her tightened and if not for the propriety of hobbits, they would be at Bag End, with a feather bed nearby or in the worst case scenario they would find space in the barn she had shown him when they arrived.

 

“Lovely Primrose, lovely wild rose,” he whispered huskily in her delicately pointed ear, before dropping another kiss just behind it.

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This story does not follow a very straight chronological order, but I will always try to be as organized as possible to avoid confusion. This chapter takes place four months before the first chapter and would work as a first introduction to the OC character.  
> Enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 19/02/2014 Updated / Beta: crashlandthetardis. <3

 

_Four months ago_

 

If tulips could grow as fast or strong as weeds, Miss Primrose – _Rose_ – Brandybuck would have been a very happy hobbit. Or maybe she wouldn’t be. Because it would mean that Daisy and Lobelia would actually be able to grow something on those silly grass puddles they called gardens.  She pulled the weed with more force, adding a hiss for efficiency, yet the blasted thing did not let go of its strong hold. She thought a dirty curse her grandfather would have reprimanded her for, in spite of him being the source of all vulgarities she knew. It had been two hours since she started the hard labor, under the shade of her favorite willow tree. She had managed to do but a quarter of the task ahead, already wet with sweat. It would take her several days before she could accomplish a clean ground for flowers and vegetables. It wasn’t late in the season at least, but it would take a lot of effort if she planned to rob Lobelia’s tulip prize from last spring.

 

The garden’s state was no one’s fault but her own. She had neglected Bag End’s garden for month and a half, not even allowing young Hamfast to help while she took possession of the smial. Before that, it had been Primula’s responsibility after Bilba’s sudden disappearance two years ago, which basically meant Primula had continued to pay Hamfast for his steady hand and dutiful assistance, with Rose giving little instructions in the background.

 

Since she could remember, Rose had always been in charge of the gardens surrounding her grandfather’s smial. That made it her favorite place back home, far away from the stuffiness felt inside the walls that were filled with ancient furniture passed down from generation to generation. After the death of their parents, her maternal grandfather had taken them in, sharing his home. Primrose was half a Took in blood and did not carry the name, but many of the ancient residents of the Great Smials would often refer to her as a Brandytook, in remembrance of her wild fauntling years. She had been born in the Great Smials and had lived there all of her life except the last two years, when she moved with Primula, Drogo, and newly born Frodo to Bag End.

 

Her grandfather, Old Gerontious Took, was proud to tell anyone who would hear him: his wild rose would be the next Thain after him, if his own elderly son did not fit the criteria, line of succession be damned. Rose would then persuade him to soften his words and would apologize profusely to her uncle repeating over and over again that she had no intentions of taking his right.

 

Now, being the next in kin (according to Bilba’s instructions, since Frodo hadn’t been contemplated in her improvised will, a very old thing made when Rose was still a fauntling) the maintenance of Bag End fell on Primrose. It was a job she might have wanted before, a lovely smial of her own, but current circumstances made the acquisition a bittersweet event. Her dreams had contained a loving family of her own, in a small but cozy smial that would be near to her sister and her cousin, with an ample garden where their children would play together. Yet it could not be. Her beloved sister and her dear husband were dead. Bilba was still missing – for Rose was not ready to accept the death of one more of her closest relatives –. And Rose was left to deal with the protocol of the formal adoption of poor, little, sweet Frodo. The year had turned out to be a sour one.

 

“Miss Prim?” Rose heard a hooting voice call behind her, taking her from her somber thoughts. She spun but found no one. It had sounded close, she thought. The hobbit turned back to the weeds invading the garden, before being once again interrupted. “Miss Prim Brandybuck?” Rose spun again quickly, standing up to see if the speaker might be hiding elsewhere, behind the tall bushes.

 

“Yes?” She called uncertain. Somewhere inside of her, she was pondering her sanity, for everything looked the same in the solitary garden. Then something she had not expected happened. With a quick flutter of wings, a brownish bird flew in front of her face.

 

“Miss Prim?” The small bird said with relief. She nodded without thinking, her brain trying to understand what type of magic would be necessary for a bird to speak. “Oh good!” The bird flew around before stopping at her shoulder. She blinked a couple of times, thoughts questioning her sanity once again rounding her brain. “I bring news concerning your cousin, the Lady Bilba Baggins, burglar extraordinaire and intended of King Thorin son of Thrain, son of Thor, King under the Mountain”. After the formal introduction, the bird picked with his beak beneath one of his wings, releasing a small parchment that had been carefully folded to fit the small pouch under the bird’s wing. She took it numbly.

 

“She’s alive?” Rose mumbled, her voice sounding unknown to her. The bird took leave from her shoulder, resuming his – _or her?_ Rose wondered, since the voice was too androgynous to exclude one gender or the other – position in front of her face. A small ember lit in her heart, knowing Bilba could be well and alive.

 

“Of course!” The bird answered with a note of exasperation before adding. “I shall be taking back your response tomorrow afternoon. Good day!” The feathered messenger flew away without waiting for a response from her.

 

Rose held the small parchment with her dirty hands. She tried to brush away some of the dirt she got from gardening, to no avail. She sighed, confusion blocking her thoughts. She went inside, walking rather slowly. Tea would be good to calm her nerves and clear her thoughts. She brought the kettle to the stove, waited patiently for it to be ready before serving a cup and heading to the hearth in the study. She sat in Bilba’s favorite chair, her feet warming by the closeness to the small fire.

 

The letter was addressed to Ms. Prim Brandybuck, and inside were a couple of sheets and another small envelope directed to her grandfather. The familiar scribble of her cousin’s hand already reminded Rose that Bilba knew nothing of Primula’s passing. Her heart tightened in her chest, knowing full well the letter was not addressed to her, but to her sister Primula who had always been Prim, just like Primrose had always been Rose. Nothing could be done but to open it she decided, after few minutes of silent deliberation.

 

_Darling Prim,_

 

_First and most importantly, I do hope you can very much forgive me for missing the birth of my new darling little cousin. I expect little Frida – or Frodo, but I’m almost sure it’s a girl! – will be already filling Bag End with new adventures, giggles and night stories. Give your beloved husband my warmest and most heartfelt congratulations. He must be so very happy with such a loving family._

 

 

_I left for an adventure almost two year ago, this spring.  I went with a company of dwarves to reclaim the lost dwarven kingdom of Erebor from the beast Smaug, a soulless creature that claimed the mountain and its riches almost a century ago, forcing the dwarves away from their homeland to wander in the vast lands of the east and eventually ‘til the Blue Mountains themselves._

 

A smile escaped her lips, for she remembered fondly Bilba’s natural talent for storytelling, often inventing on the spot to please Rose when sleep would not come. Primrose only hoped to meet with Bilba again so she could learn firsthand of all the adventures Bilba went through.

 

_Until recently, communication was difficult, but with the alliance of the ravens, I couldn’t bear not to have news from the Shire. Ideas to unite Erebor to other kingdoms and realms have been present in the current state affairs under the mountain. I have consulted with the King and his councilors for a possibility of negotiations with our own race, which has been seen with good eyes. I have added a small letter to carry to dearest grandfather – my heart hopes he still carries his title as Thain and has not left this world just yet, not before I may share his hearth again and tell him stories of my own._

Tears dropped from her eyes. Rose blinked repeatedly as she knew not herself to be crying until a drop suddenly fell over the pages. _Oh dearest Bilba, how could you ever imagine it would be Primula and Drogo you would never get to say goodbye to_. Rose clinched her eyes shut, controlling her emotions as she had practiced over the last few weeks. She dried her eyes with a delicate handkerchief she had taken from Bilba’s collection.

 

 _I do hope he finds the agreement pleasing. If he does, a small party will depart to cement the alliance and determine the conditions of the contribution. I may not be able to come with them, but it would be my greatest pleasure for you, Drogo, little Frida and darling Rose to come back with them. Maybe Rose has already given her consent of courtship to her latest beau – the one we saw her with at the last fair hidden behind the fruit stand getting_ very _well acquainted looked promising – and she would bring him with her._

Rose’s tears were forgotten as she felt herself blush dark red to the roots of her hair. She had not known Primula and Bilba knew of her love affair with the youngest of the Fariadaks. It felt so long ago. The blush did not subside as she remembered the details of the night. 

_Oh my darling cousin! I miss you and little Rose so. It would be wonderful if you would come to Erebor for more reasons than just a simple visit. After two years of adventures I am very happy to share that I have found the companionship I’d always wanted but never believed I’d get. I have been officially the intended of Thorin for a few days and I cannot imagine marrying him without your presence, your love and support._

_I wait your answer, your news and even some gossip,_

_Always with love,_

_Bilba._


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because another chapter without dwarves was just too sad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 19/02/2014 Updated / Beta: crashlandthetardis <3

 

“Frodo! Not the vase!”

 

A loud crash sounded not long after. She hurried to carry the small hobbit away from harm, before he cut himself with the broken shards of wet pottery. If she remembered well enough, the victim of Frodo’s reign of destruction had been made by her mother.  The flowers lay spilled under the table, water had reached the carpet. Rose knew it would be impossible to clean immediately. She felt a sharp shard pierce one of her feet. She cursed loudly. Frodo seemed to find the naughty words endearing and began repeating them as he shrieked wildly. She changed her hold to place him on one of her hips. He giggled breathlessly, still repeating curses.

 

He had always been a very active little boy; nevertheless she was definitely not used to taking care of him for more than a day. If he was not running around, he would be grabbing things he shouldn’t, breaking others that had been thought to be child resistant, folding if not tearing pages of her books, eating dirt or bugs, hiding too well for his age. She felt at least a hundred years older than she was. Some quiet mornings – before the fauntling in question woke – she would check her chocolate hair for grey strands, but she hadn’t found any … yet.

 

“No Frodo!” She reprimanded, trying to imitate, the best she could, the tone her sister frequently used to chastise her son. The boy did not seem to find any resemblance, for when either Prim or Drogo used it, he would immediately fall in silence, his eyes would expand innocently and he would stop any resistance from his parents – _but eventually he obeyed -_. Currently, he was laughing without a care in the world, thoughts of future punishment escaping his little mind. Curse words were suddenly forgotten when new distractions appeared in his line of sight. His impossibly blue eyes glittered with mischief. He grabbed one of her wild curls and pulled it, producing a shriek from his aunt, which was as enticing as repeating curses. “Frodo!” She chastised yet again, with no result, before shrieking again after a hard pull from her nephew. She already dreaded the tween years Frodo was nowhere near reaching. The Valar  had a nasty way of collecting the deeds one held.

 

“Nina!” He countered in a fit of giggles without letting go of her hair. The ridiculous name he had started calling her would not rub off. She didn’t really know where he learned it or if it meant something to him. She tried breaking his hold on her hair, defeated when he would squirm and slap her hands away. Too quick for his tired aunt, he won every pathetic attempt she did to avoid baldness. If this had happened three months ago, she would have laughed along and probably broken something else to intensify his giggles. A loud knock was heard at the front door. She sighed in defeat, letting Frodo pull the locks he wished, even lick them if he pleased – he had _very_ different fancies from other hobbit children -. She took him with her, secure at her hip, away from the messed up dining room, lunch forgotten. She prayed for anyone to come to clear up the mess she had gotten into. Even Lobelia would do. _Especially_ Lobelia, she admitted to herself. The uppity hobbit might be annoying to the extremes but Frodo would obey her every word and her children had turned out somewhat normal, hadn’t they? To comfort herself when she lay away at night, she would add this to the list she carried in her mind that confirmed her suspicions, Lobelia was probably a witch. Her powers most likely came from the Dark Lord himself.

 

She opened the rounded green door, expecting Bilba’s cousin to appear. What she found, was very different, though she had to admit not at all unexpected. It had been three weeks since she sent her first correspondence to her darling cousin back in Erebor. Rose had believed they would have sent a messenger from Bree, but it was evident that was not the case. She had hoped they would not catch her so out of place, with a rebellious toddler, a bird - nest for a hairdo, a bleeding foot and an apron that only the gods knew how many stains it carried.  How the mighty had fallen, she couldn’t help but thinking. The dwarves appeared to be amused rather than offended, so she tried smiling politely.

 

“Miss Primrose Baggins?” One dwarf questioned while studying her disposition. At the door she could count only four dwarves. She knew not how many they were supposed to be, but she surely expected at least a dozen. Bilba’s den had been replenished to the roof, by her cousin’s own advice. She was to expect starvation if not and if Bilba’s letters were to be trusted – which, _of course_ they were – hungry dwarves were _not_ pleasant company. Much like hobbits.

 

The one currently holding her attention looked middle aged. The first thing that called her wandering attention was the intricate style in which he carried the dark red hair that seemed to sprout from every corner of his face. His whiskers and beard were collected in thick braids that connected partially with two other braids of his hair, even his bushy eyebrows were long enough to meet the back of his head. There were big metal clasps holding the hair style in place. The rest of his features were lost to her eyes, for it was too much hair to make sense. She had been prepared to recognize a dwarf anywhere, but she found the four companions to be far from the books descriptions. In literature, they had been portrayed as either cuddly figures – she assumed a hobbit had been bored and thought it amusing to describe dwarves like hairy hobbits – or if not, as greedy dark little creatures who only lived beneath rocks. Reality surpassed any literary expectation she had.

 

“Primrose Brandybuck!” She corrected quickly with a friendly smile. Frodo had stopped toying – licking really, who was she kidding? - with her hair to glance at the strangers. She felt him shy away – as he was prone to do since his parents passing - , burying his face in the crock her neck. She bettered her hold once again, as she felt him scurrying from her arms. His little hands grabbed the front of her apron tightly. She remembered her niceties, stepping back with a wince, as her hurt foot pressed the ground where the shard was rooted. “Do make yourselves comfortable,” she said with a tone she hoped was inviting. “Are there only four of you?” She questioned when the last of the four shut the door behind him.

 

He was wearing a funny looking hat. His eyes were kinder than the others of the company – for they seemed like a sour lot –, smiling on their own. His moustache was not braided like the red headed one; it was long, styled freely with an amusing flip at the end. The hair she could see, from beneath the hat, was collected in two braids falling at both sides of his face. He was bonier than the others, as well. His mouth was collected in a looped sided grin.

 

The one closer to her turned to answer, collecting her attention. He looked young, in spite of his solidly bearded face. His blonde mane of hair was held by few little braids adorned with golden and silver trinkets. Even his mustache finished in two thin braids also decorated with expensive looking beads. His golden beard was kept shorter than the older dwarves. His eyes were blue – twinkling away - , a sight that reminded her too much of the nephew currently hidden in her neck, or maybe a shade lighter. Said eyes appeared to be studying her as she was doing him, hence delaying the answer of a question she had already forgotten. They looked serious, yet she could see some amusement hidden in them. A long noble nose settled in his face as if it had been designed perfectly to give him an air of importance. He stood easily a foot taller than her, though she suspected their funny looking boots had something to do with the dwarves’ height.

 

Another young looking dwarf had settled closely behind him, a casual hand on the blonde’s shoulder. He was few inches taller, his face betrayed his youth. His beard was not as thick as his partner, holding no decorations. His coloring was also different: his hair was dark as the other one was fair, his eyes were a dark shade of hazel, his nose smaller in size, and he also seemed leaner compared to the broader shoulders of his blonde counterpart. Even with their differences, Rose, with all of her lack of attention to detail, could see some similarities between them in the line of their cheeks, the form of their eyes, and the set of their jaw, suggesting some sort of kinship. Both were very handsome, in spite of all the extra hair in their forms. Maybe she could suggest they cut it off to see how they would look like?

 

“For now,” the blonde answered diplomatically, interrupting her assessment. It took her some seconds to remember what question his words answered. She blinked, feeling silly, but was suddenly rescued from further embarrassment as the remaining member of their small group stepped closer and bowed with a flourish.

 

“May I introduce, Fíli son of Bali and Dis, prin-,” The hatted dwarf began, as he pointed at the blonde very handsome dwarf, but was soon interrupted by the object of his introduction. The blonde dwarf approached her, his captivating blue eyes – almost silver really - not letting hers go. A shiver traveled down her spine. He took her hand – the only one she could borrow him, since the other was holding Frodo in place – and gave her a sound long kiss on the back. He did not release her; nor did his lips part from her skin, his fingers brushing ever so softly on her pulse. She felt her breathing pattern break, as air seemed to avoid entrance to her body.

 

“Fíli, at your service,” he murmured while his lips were still too close to her hand for her to feel normal. She snapped her fingers away from his after a second of lucidity, feeling butterflies and things _any_ proper hobbit would _most definitively_ not be feeling at the touch of a dwarf, much less one she just met. She gave at least a step backwards. Her cheeks most have turned somewhat red, for she noticed the smug, amused note the blue eyes danced to.

 

“You _always_ do that!” The youngster behind him said with a growl. “It’s unbecoming!” He reprimanded, sounding mocking. “Kíli, at your service!” He announced with enthusiasm, after sending a cold glare to the blond, who remained impervious to his animosity, still watching the blushing hobbit. “I do apologize for my brother’s rudeness,” Kíli continued, gaining the attention of his sibling, who glared darkly.

 

Rose did try to say something, but words failed her. Her golden eyes looked lost between the members of the company. The siblings were evenly matched in a glare combat. The hatted one appeared to be in the verge of hitting them with a stick. The other one however…

 

“Nori, at your service Mistress Brandybuck,” the ginger haired dwarf said with a solemn bow, his hands moving with a flourish. “And Bofur,” he added elbowing the hatted dwarf to take his focus from the fighting siblings.

 

“Well, I’m Primrose Brandybuck, but you may call me Rose,” she repeated with the hint of a smile, as she tucked a wet strand of her hair, behind her ear. She congratulated herself for not stuttering. This seemed to be the end of the silent battle. Fíli and Kíli turned with similar grins, all acts of seriousness dropped.

 

“Primrose,” Fíli rolled her name, tasting it with his tongue, and for the first time in ages, Rose did not mind her long birth name. His slight accent did wonders to the sound. She refused to look at him now that she felt her face returning to her natural ivory state.

 

“And the little one?” Kíli asked, with a discreet shove to his brother, leaning to see if he caught a sight of the toddler in her arms.

 

“Darling?” She murmured to her nephew’s pointy ear, bringing him to face the strangers. “Will you introduce yourself?” she nudged his front with her nose softly, making him glance up and gift her with a sweet smile. She returned him to the ground, briefly arranging his clothes. One of his hands took the bottom of her apron tightly.

 

“Frodo Baggins,” he muttered shyly, leaning to her skirts, while rubbing his sleepy eyes, not meeting the dwarves’ curious stares. The dwarves shared a loud laugh. Bofur kneeled near Frodo, raising his hand to touch one of the toddler’s ears. He pulled the hand back with a flourish, making a small wooden object appear in it. Frodo smiled, curiosity getting the best of him. He looked up to his aunt’s attentive gaze. She pushed him to the dwarf, who still held the small figurine in his outstretched hand. Frodo took it and before she could say anything, the figure was in his mouth being tasted by his tongue. A snort escaped her, making her once again the center of attention.

 

“So, where’s the food lass?” Nori wondered bluntly, before anything else could be said, heading to the dining room, where there was no food to be seen. She had been about to prepare Frodo and her lunch, but after her nephew had made a mess of the dining room, she had forgotten.

 

“I have some food prepared in the den, and there’s some pie left from elevensies,” she informed walking inside the kitchen, following the red headed dwarf to her kitchen, feeling like the guest at their familiarity with the smial. He stopped suddenly, sharing a look she didn’t understand with the others. She thought she caught a smile playing at the blonde’s lips, but if it ever was, it disappeared quickly. His brother, the dark headed one, gave her a look.

 

“Did you make it?” He questioned tactlessly, a smart eyebrow rising slightly. _Was that a snort from Nori?_ She felt her face turning warm, not knowing if she was supposed to cook for the dwarves. Maybe their traditions dictated such. She decided for honesty.

 

“No, Bilba’s cousin Lobelia helped us with it,” she confessed, feeling her cheeks turn bright red under the attentive gaze of the dwarves. Kíli spun then to his brother, sharing obvious smiles this time. Was that relief she saw?

 

“Good!” He announced as he approached the forgotten pie, took out enough plates for all – _how did they know where everything was?_ -. She stood numbly, holding Frodo close to her skirts, looking at the small company juggle with plates, forks and knives, humming a tune they all seemed to know well. Frodo snickered at their antics.

 

“ _Why_ is it good?” The question fell from her mouth like a mousy squeak, dread settled in her stomach when Bofur let a loud bark of laughter escape him. Fíli and Kíli gave wider grins, amusement obvious, mischief showing on both of their eyes. They also shared dimples, she noted dumbly.

 

“Lady Bilba told us not to touch anything you cooked, unless we wanted to die an unpleasant death -,” Fíli began mustering a noble tone and with serious expression his blue eyes on her like a hawk.

 

“Or spend our whole stay at the privy. “ Kíli chirped in. The young dwarf had already taken a bite of the pie, half of the crumbs left on his short beard.  

 

“’ _She can burn water!’_ Bilba warned,” Fíli teased, his grave voice going higher to mimic a female. All dwarves laughed loudly at this, Frodo probably didn’t understand much of the joke but he gave sweet giggles of his own.

 

In spite of the blush that threatened to kill her, the humiliating drop of her stomach and the sense of being the object of pure ridicule in a kingdom so far away, she had to admit Fíli could do a great impression of her cousin. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much for your kudos ! It's such a joy to see people liking the story so far!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Location: Erebor. Chronologically, it happens a week after Bilba sends the letter to Primula, just when Fíli's party leaves Erebor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is something about this chap that delayed me... I don't know what it is but I might come back to it to polish. 
> 
> Also, I'm doing whatever I want with the timeline... or at least I'm not being really accurate for how long it takes to go from place to place or how much time went through for the whole Erebor quest to happen. I'm considering that it took them maybe a year, a year and a half... thinking that maybe they stayed longer in some places, also with all the delays with the orcs and so on. So, this chapter happens about 6 months after the Battle of Five Armies (I say that they are starting to call it the Battle for Erebor, but just because I doubt famous battles were named they way we know them few months after they happened.. right?).
> 
> 20/02/14 Updated / Beta chrashlandthetardis <3

 

The minute the small caravan left her eyesight, Bilba Baggins knew she had made a mistake. She shouldn’t have listened to Thorin, with his big words, those particularly persuading blue eyes of his and that very convincing tongue. She should have left with them. What was she thinking? At the time, it had appeared to be the most sensible thing to do. She had been cleared from the healing halls just a week before, Thorin had been worried about Bilba straining herself with all of the duties she had acquired. It had been a well-made point on his part saying that the little  family she had left would come back with his nephews, whether they made the deal with the Shire work or not.

 

A small party was formed to travel to the Shire for the negotiation of the hopefully migrating hobbits. They had been witness to the benefits of her presence during the quest to regain the lonely mountain. As soon as she was able to walk, she had taken upon herself to organize the groups in charge of recovering the land surrounding their mountain – for it was her home now too -. After a few days she found herself missing the help of those she knew best, hobbits. She thought about how Hamfast would construct the greenhouses, how Rose would organize the crops, or whichever doubt Bilba held, she was certain it would be answered better by them. She suggested it first to Balin; his agreement eventually took her thoughts to Thorin and with both of them behind her, it only took a few hours before the whole council approved of the idea. The dwarves were doing better now that almost half a year had passed from what they were starting to call the Battle for Erebor. It had taken them little time - all things considered - to get used to dealing with the constant presence of elves and men, but especially after observing the attention Thorin bestowed upon her, to accept the possibility of a queen not from their own race. There were still so many barriers to cross, dwarves' traditions be damned.

 

After getting the approval she needed, Bilba had suggested Fíli and Kíli to go with the new company, their charm and ease would surely help with her former neighbors. Fíli also, according to Balin, needed to spread his diplomatic wings and start practicing for a probable succession. Most dwarves tried not to comment on the possible change in succession a hypothetical child of her and Thorin would bring to the equation. Especially not after the battle and all the complications that had appeared so soon after. It was still painful for her to think about it. It had become a subject Thorin and her would tip around, never fully comfortable to talk about.

 

Nori was chosen by Dwalin, the latter recently named Captain of the Royal guard, along with two guards that would probably remain in Bree – and finally Bofur, who she knew would bring some sort of comfort to Rose – kindness and humor would never hurt the grieving girl. But what Rose probably needed was her, simple as that and Bilba felt herself needing her back. There had been many ups and downs from her departure of the Shire and Bilba had missed so very much the comfort of relying unconditionally on Prim. Now they both needed the elder Brandybuck, but they would have to do with each other.

 

When Rose’s letter had arrived, her heart had broken for Primula and Drogo. For the child, Frodo, they had left behind and poor darling Rose, so used to a complicated existence, was now to take on where they had left off. Primula had been the closest thing Bilbo had known to a sister. Their ages had not been far apart and since their mothers had been sisters, the bond appeared to have passed through their children. When Rose had been born, on that horrible winter, Bilba was already past majority and Primula almost there. Primula’s and Rose’s parents had perished due to the horrid affair of the Fell Winter, their father to an attack of wolves and their unfortunate mother due to complications of Rose’s birth. Both Brandybuck orphans had left for Tuckborough when spring came, to be under the care of their grandfather. Yet Bilba and Prim had tried taking a motherly role towards Rose, trying to give her the care she had been so deprived of.

 

Bilba turned from the stone balcony, feeling determined, hurrying to find her intended in the maze of corridors. He would not convince her otherwise this time. She was resolved. There was a second party leaving a week from now, meant to travel to Ered Luin, to collect few of the families remaining there and also as a diplomatic convoy between both mountains. If everything went well, both parties were supposed to make a return together. And she would be damned if she didn’t leave with them.

 

“Thorin!” She called when she saw his imposing figure at the end of the corridor. The flickering of the candle flames gave him such a regal air. Sometimes it was all it took to make her breath get caught in her throat. He was such a beautiful creature, so majestic, so very kingly. She shook her thoughts away, she would not be distracted. She was a hobbit on a mission, again. When he turned, she realized her slip at his raised eyebrow. He was accompanied by a dwarf she had mistaken for Balin. She was supposed to be proper and polite. She wasn’t supposed to be shrieking down corridors, especially forgetting that she could only use his given name in private matters. She would have snorted at how the circumstances had turned. Two years ago, she would have called a fool the one who said  _dwarves_  would be rolling their eyes at  _her_  lack of manners. “Your grace,” she corrected with an attempt of bow, amusement at Thorin’s steel gaze told her she hadn’t performed very well. She huffed for a second before collecting her emotions.

 

“Lady Baggins,” the other dwarf greeted, remembering her discourtesy. He looked to be related to Dain, if her senses were correct. She gave him a small nod of her head, totally improper, but she couldn’t help herself.

 

“Your grace, I -,” she started gathering the formulation of the petition. “I would like a private, eh…” Words failed her yet again.

 

“Audience?” Thorin offered, his eyes gazing her with clear endearment and something predatory all the same, making her heart flip dangerously. She nodded, in lack of better response. The dwarf from the Iron Hills, now turned spectator of their attempt of polite conversation, excused himself, without forgetting to narrow his eyes at the hobbit. As soon as he left, Thorin was quick to take her hand under the protection of the crock of his arm. He guided them easily to their chambers – officially his, but they weren’t kidding anyone into thinking she actually used hers.

 

When the door closed, she didn’t get a chance to say anything before he pounced. Apparently her request had been misleading. His lips attacked hers, his tongue hurriedly entering her mouth. She moaned in pleasure, demands well forgotten. His fingers played with the border of her neckline. Her back arched of its own accord, pressing her stomach to his well sculpted one, her breasts well within his reach. Frustration built up in her belly, she knew he loved taunting and torturing responses from her. His fingers now played with her hair, undoing her morning work of taming wild curly locks. A small breeze at her back let her know he had managed to swiftly undo the laces on the back of her dress. His fingers teased the sensitive skin of her back, making her shudder and whimper all at once.

 

“Thorin,” She moaned to his neck, shutting her eyes when his lips found the right spot behind her pointy ears. Her fingers had been doing work on their own. She felt the soft dense mat of hair on his chest, getting tangled between her fine fingers. His deft hands left her back, a ruffle of clothes made her open her eyes. She appreciated the view of his naked torso for a few seconds before he took her by the waist and in few long strides laid her on their featherbed, his form covering hers.

 

“Ghivashel,” he called, adoration clear in his voice, his beard making shivers travel down her body settling on her belly. His caresses turned tender, the desperation of his previous attack forgotten. His fingers touched her skin, slowly taking her garments away, broadening his field of exploration. Her ample bosom was the current object of inspection from his fingers. He would drop a kiss, a small nip, a slow lick. It was pure torture in Bilba’s eyes. She had been about to attack him when he spoke, remembering her purpose. “Balin will have my head if I keep skipping council for  _private_   _audiences_ ,” his voice rumbled on her neck as he sucked the tender skin.

 

“Darling,” she whispered, pushing his form slightly, previous thoughts remembered. He turned to look at her, noticing the change of her demeanor. “As much as I  _love_  our private meetings,” she started; trying to pull back the front of her dress, to no avail, Thorin’s hold was steady. His eyes narrowed, recognizing her tone. She gave a nervous chuckle. “You see, I’ve been thinking -,” she brushed her hair back, not that it did much, but it gave her few seconds to think how to proceed. She should have waited, planned a strategy and then attacked. “Maybe it’s not too late for me to join the expedition to –“

 

“No,” Thorin cut off, his lips trying to get back to their former occupation.

 

“But  _âzyungel_!-“ She tried her own little vile ways, using his language against him.

 

“No,” he interrupted yet again, more forceful. “We discussed, you agreed to stay.”

 

“Thorin!” she chastised, the mood definitively broken, she managed to pull her dress up and stood up  from the bed, too far for him to reach. “I’m not leaving for good, just for a couple of weeks,” she tried, diminishing the importance of time by applying weeks. His narrowed eyes glared at her and some part of her brain noticed it had been a long time since he gave her that particularly annoyed half glare.

 

“You are my intended,” Thorin reminded possessively, as if the fact could be simply forgotten. Her hair was full with beads he gave her –from his parents, a couple from his sister, and many more he had made in the short time they had been living in Erebor. His claim on her was clear and very public. Her hands cupped his bearded face, before planting a soft kiss on his lips, hoping to appease him. A soft growl from his mouth told her it was not the case. She sighed, before leaving the bed. “Fíli is completely capable of taking care of negotiations”. Another more frustrated sigh escaped her as she looked at his bulky form.

 

“Yes, Fíli can take care of the negotiations,” she agreed, although she had some reservations. They both knew her presence would do wonders to speed up the process. She took a deep breath knowing full well this discussion could make her journey an unpleasant experience. Thorin had sat up at the edge of the bed, silent as a tomb, his eyes however deceiving his straight posture. “Thorin I need to go, not for the negotiations and you know that,” she walked until she was between his thighs.  She took his hands between hers, interlacing their fingers, leaning until her front touched his. “And if you see this as me getting my way,” she said with a lighter tone. “I’m not. If I got my way, you’d be coming with me”. His hands dropped hers gently before pulling her to his chest, kissing her lips softly. When a hand tenderly brushed her belly, she understood his concerns. She brushed his braids away from his face, smiling bittersweet.

 

“Oin says we’ll have to wait a few more months,” her voice trying to sound less affected. She kissed him, not wanting to discuss further the subject and also wanting to chase away the thoughts on his mind.

 

“You said your cousin would care for her sisters’ son,” he argued, changing subjects, but both new his tone held no animosity.

 

“And pray Mahal, tell me who will take care of Rose?” She questioned, caressing his hair. “She’s but a child, only reached the majority before I left”. He gave half a growl, half a frustrated sigh.

 

“Three months,” he offered, burying his face on her chest, his breath teasing her skin. She pulled away slightly, forcing him to meet her eyes.

 

“Three months plus two for travel at most,” she countered, an eyebrow raised. “I must after all be here by spring if you still wish to wed me,” she added cheekily. He couldn’t help but to gift her with a smile. He leaned back to her chest, his nose nuzzling the valley between her breasts.

 

“You will take Dwalin,” he ordered without changing positions, his lips touching her skin briefly, reminding her of their former occupation. He gave her a look that made her tingle in all of the right places. In less than two minutes, she was securely caged underneath his chest. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last few days I've been writing a lot things that will come to pass later in the story, but the chaps I've planned to follow this one are so very raw, it might take me some days before updating.
> 
> I'm also toying around with the idea of going 'explicit' or placing those scenes in another part of the Shirelings.. 
> 
> Thanks for your support ! I'd love to get some 'live' feedback, comments on your thoughts, theories or whatever tickles your fancy.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back to the Shire, bad first impressions, napping and darling Lobelia.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 19/02/2014: Updated / Beta: crashlandthetardis <3

 

After eating most of the already cooked food of her den – she was now forced to call Lobelia for help, if she was supposed to keep feeding the dwarves, her nephew and herself. The dwarves went to go about their affairs, which according to their stories, had been left on the outside of Hobbiton, with their ponies, under the care of a Bridleweed, if she had understood correctly. She used that time to fix her foot, comb her hair, change her apron and clean the blood drops she had left all around the house. There hadn’t been enough for a bath, since she had to put Frodo to sleep. Yet, she _almost_ looked decent. When they came back, they found her cleaning, under the table, the mess Frodo had made before they arrived.

 

“Where’s the little trickster?” Nori asked, questioning the silence reining through the house. Frodo might have been shy of their presence when they arrived, but after few well-made games by Fíli and Kíli, a story from Bofur, and a magic trick from Nori, they were done gaining the small hobbit’s good graces.

 

“He’s napping,” she replied, as she rose from her position under the table, brushing absently her apron into place. She stretched her back, hearing a couple of cracks. “Thank the Green Lady he sleeps like a log, but I wouldn’t recommend making lots of noise anyhow”. Nori gave her a nod before staring down the rest of the dwarves to make a point.

 

“Miss Brandybuck, Lady Bilba told us we could find accommodations in Bag End, but if it is too much trouble…” Bofur began, honest uncertainty in his voice.

 

“Oh yes! How incredibly rude of me!” Rose interrupted, her face flushing, cleaning her hands out of habit on her recently changed apron. What a hostess she had become! “Yes, she didn’t tell me how many you were, so I got most of the guest’s rooms ready just in case,” she blathered as she lead them deeper into her house, through the small maze of corridors. When she reached the end of the hall, she spun, finding the dwarves trailing after her with hands full with their weapons, bags and who knew what else. “You wouldn’t mind sharing, would you?” She asked opening the door of one of the guests’ rooms. The room was nice and comfortable. Last week she had aired it, changed the linens, molded the pillows and folded some comforters at the edge of the beds.

 

“Oh no Miss Brandybuck, we’re used to sharing much smaller and shadier lodgings than this,” Kíli quipped in, entering the room and dropping most of his belongings on the floor. That sword would leave a scratch for sure, she thought as she wrinkled her nose. When she noticed they were all dropping their belongings inside of the same room, she knew she had been misunderstood. They would later explain the last time they had slept in Bag End they had improvised a camp on the living room, barely knowing where the inner rooms were.

 

“Oh no, I meant two can sleep here, and there’s a chamber just in front for the other two,” she explained, pointing at the door outside to make her point. They stood there staring at her for a second, before Kíli took back his things – yes, there was a scratch on the wooden floors, that had not been there when she had cleaned the room and polished the wood, – and went in direction of the other room. She followed him quickly after he opened the door, balancing his very sharp looking weapons and two bags. “Master Kíli!” She called before he dropped yet again everything and damaged another perfectly made floor. He turned, dark eyebrows rose so innocent looking.

 

“Be careful with the floor, brother!” The blonde dwarf said behind her, making Rose jump in surprise. She had not heard him follow. She turned to find him too close for her liking. His blue eyes looked down into her surprised ones, a smile playing at his lips. If there had been a gap before, he closed it quickly with a step forward. “Miss Baggins, aren’t _you_ a nervous little thing?” He purred half condescending, half evidently enjoying how the apple of her cheeks turned bright red and a stutter escaped her, his mocking blue eyes dancing. A chuckle from his sibling snapped her out of her trance.

 

“I’m not a little anything!” She barked, taking a step away from the smug creature, her eyes glaring at him full with anger. She did not like to be teased in her own home, as recent as said home had been in fact hers. “And I’m a Brandybuck! Bran – dy – buck!”

 

“There, there, Miss Brandybuck,” Kíli said, walking to her side, arms still occupied with gear. She noticed how he gave his brother a look. “Fíli´s just being a prick,” he added with fake reproachful tone. “Now, where would you like me to place my weapons?” He asked in a tone that was too cheerful, obviously trying to break the tension in the room. She gave a final glare to the blonde dwarf – who was still staring at her with a very smug smirk on his face, - before turning to the polite one of the brothers.

 

“The chest in front of the beds are empty, I wanted to empty the armoires but Primula -,” she alone cut off the phrase, feeling her eyes moist like they did when she spoke her sister’s name. She clenched and unclenched her fists repeatedly, her nails breaking skin. She blinked a few times before resuming her answer. “The chest,” she repeated curtly, turning and leaving the room. She felt herself slipping away from the controlled state she had gotten into after Frodo had come to live with her. She was not supposed to be breaking down at the mention of her sister’s name, she was supposed to be fine, to let go and move on. All of the things people said when horrible affairs like this happened. It had been almost three months. She was fine, she was fine, she repeated to herself. She heard Kíli calling her name but she didn’t dare to turn, she knew she could lose any of the dwarves inside of Bag End, no matter how good they thought they knew the smial. Only a hobbit could find the logic in its placement. She hid herself in Frodo’s room, finding comfort in his small form under the covers.

 

She tucked in the loose ends of his covers, she passed a delicate hand through his curls, earning a hum from his little form. Only a couple of tears escaped her, sad thoughts clouding her mind. She sat on the rocking chair Bungo had made for Belladona and she fell into an unrestful sleep.

 

It was Frodo who woke her, chirping and shrieking her name. She opened her eyes lazily, a headache settling. Frodo gave a particularly loud shriek from his crib, seconds later a knock was heard.

 

“Miss Brandybuck?” Bofur’s voice came from the other side. She stood, rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand, took Frodo out of the crib and placed him on the ground. She opened the door, to find the hatted dwarf looking down with concern.

 

“Master Bofur,” she muttered. “Is there anything wrong?” She asked politely.

 

“We made dinner,” he explained, taking a step back to allow her to pass outside.

 

“Dinner?” She mumbled confused, it had been the early afternoon when she took Frodo to bed. A small ´ _Oh´_ fell from her lips when she noticed the darkness through the window. Afternoon nap be damned!

 

“I hope you take no offence, we took what we needed from the den,” he informed politely, taking off his hat and placing it in his chest. She felt embarrassed for her improvised nap. She had many things to do now that the winter cold was starting to recede. One of her current duties was to attend the dwarves but she seemed to have failed to do that as well. Frodo went through their legs and ran to the dining room, following his nose.

 

“No need to apologize, Master Bofur,” she said when he noticed he didn’t move from his spot and was staring with clear concern. “No offense taken,” Rose added with a smile that fell easily on her lips. He returned it, putting back his hat in place. “The food at the den is at your disposal and if you need anything at all, let me know and I’ll get it for you from the market”. The line was rehearsed but she meant it. Politeness was easy for hobbits, who loved showering their guests with niceties, abundant food, expensive ale or whatever their hearts would want. She had been lacking exceedingly in her duties. With a determined look, she went to the kitchen, resolved to follow the most basic of hobbit abilities.

 

The dwarves, however, had done pretty well in that aspect. The food was very well placed at the table – they even found the good china -. The kitchen, from where she stood, didn’t look as if a battle had occurred, which was the way she usually left it when she tried cooking something other than bread. The smell from the food was captivating and she leaned to the casserole nearest to her, taking in the heavy scent of sweet potatoes. Maybe they wouldn’t need Lobelia’s cooking after all. She could buy the food and they would be her good little house wives. A giggle slipped her mouth. Nori gave her a look while he seemed to be polishing the silverware before placing it on the table. The red headed dwarf caught her staring and roguishly winked at her.

 

“We didn’t know what you would prefer,” Bofur commented, taking the seat at the head of the table out for her to sit. She complied, feeling more like the guest by the minute.

 

“It all looks lovely,” she said with awe. “Much better than anything I would ever cook!” Both dwarves shared a smile that held no mockery towards her. “Maybe if Bilba didn’t frighten you too much, you could teach me a few tricks?” she asked to no one in specific as she didn’t really know if there was one cook or they had all participated. Nori cleared it up, as he looked at Bofur expectantly. The dwarf in question gave her a broad smile and a slight blush settled on his cheeks.

 

“It would be my pleasure, Miss Brandybuck,” Bofur agreed, his eyes twinkling with joy. She felt much better than she had hours ago.

 

“Rose, please!” She said, breaking protocol. Only relatives or close friends were supposed to use your given name. She couldn’t care less.

 

“Then you must leave that Master Dwarf nonsense behind too, lass!” Nori contributed from his side of the table. He dropped at the seat near the kitchen, continuing to polish the knives.

 

Fíli and Kíli appeared from the kitchen, the former bringing a heavy looking casserole, the latter carrying her nephew over his shoulders with a wide grin. “Look what I found in the kitchen, Miss Rose!” Kíli announced with joy, juggling her nephew as the youngster giggled madly.

 

“I believe he’s certainly taken with dwarves”. Frodo refused to take a sit far from Kíli, who was too pleased to have all of the youngster’s attention to himself.

 

“We do have our way with the residents of Bag End!” Bofur cheered from the kitchen door, bringing the last of the cooking pots. The meal went on without interruption, apart from Fíli and Kíli’s games with Frodo and some little tales she had managed to get of Bilba. Dwarves, ever secretive creatures, smartly answered her questions without really answering. They were masters at leading their conversation, and no matter how quick witted she had believed herself to be, they beat her every time. Soon food trays were empty and they were nursing the last of the ale in their cups. Frodo had found himself back into her safe arms, playing with the buttons of her dress, while his head dropped from time to time. She waited until he yawned a couple of times and his eyes began to drop before taking him to bed. It was an art to get him to bed without complain, but it was one of the few things about their dysfunctional little family she felt she did right. “To bed, my love,” she whispered in his hair. He gave no protest, but buried his little nose on the curls by her neck. She turned to say something, but blushed when she noted the soft, endearing looks the dwarves were giving them.

 

“I’ll be back,” she found herself saying, not wishing to leave them to clean after all they had done. She took the fauntling in her arms to bed, tucking him under his covers with care, brushing curls away from his innocent face. “I love you my little Frodo,” she muttered as she kissed his front. He mumbled nonsense as a reply. A smile played at her lips when she went back to the dining room. The plates had been cleared and they all sat sharing pipe weed.

 

“Would you like some Miss Rose?” Kíli said offering her his own pipe.

 

“I’ll clean up while you...” Words left her when she spotted from the doorway the kitchen sparkling clean. She blinked owlishly, the dwarves looking rather content. “How?”

 

“We can be quick, when we want to lass,” Nori replied with a smirk as he balanced on the back legs of his chair. A pipe was handed to her. She took it a bit numbly without thinking, dropping at the seat next to Fíli. Then she knew the pipe had come from him. He had tried being polite during the diner which she had taken as close to an apology she would ever get.  Currently, another pipe was being held only by his lips, as he tightened the cords of a small harp, an instrument she knew well. He seemed to be doing a very good and delicate job, in spite of his thick fingers.

 

“Miss Bilba told us you smoked,” he said with the hint of a smile, raising his eyes from his work to meet hers. She found she liked the blue shade they had, when they weren’t mocking her.  She snorted.

 

“Then I must assume she told you about the time I burned the old wooden house,” she sighed in despair, her cousin seemed to be determined to embarrass her even in the distance. “Honestly, did she make a point to tell all about my wildling years?”

 

“For a time, Lady Bilba’s stories were all we looked forward in the night,” Nori explained with a sad smile on his lips, he puffed his pipe. “No food for the body, but it served well for the soul”.

 

“She missed you,” Bofur added, brushing away the hair that fell into his face, his hat had dropped earlier when Frodo had made a grab for it, and it lay forgotten on the floor.

 

“And we missed her too,” she said, thoughts bringing her to worried conversations with Primula, debating the ending of their cousin. How many nights had they not waited for Bilba to return? She closed her eyes, bringing emotions back into place, taking small draws from the pipe. “This is a fine weed, where did you get it?” The males shared a laugh, a private joke of sorts.

 

“A hidden stash from Erebor,” Kíli quipped, his smirk betraying his innocent tone.

 

“Good stuff, a worthy theft,” she appreciated taking another long draw, making them chuckle again. “I could copy it if you wish; most of my tobacco comes from my own garden”. Most seemed surprised at her offer, but none refused it.

 

“Miss Bil- Lady Bilba did say you had a talent for herbs,” Nori said.

 

“Oh so it wasn’t all bad!” She sighed in relief. They shared a couple of laughs with silly comments, until Nori’s head began dropping. Bofur called it a night. She thanked them profusely for their help and when they went to their respective chambers – without help she noticed with pride - she went to get her coat, to do some of the gardening she had missed because of her afternoon nap.

 

“Miss Primrose?” A low baritone called from behind her when she was about to exit through the back door of the smial. Fíli looked at her with concern in his frown. She noticed he was the only one to still refer to her by her full name. At first she had thought it was to bug her, yet a small part of her believed he liked to roll it with his tongue, and who was she to complain.

 

“Yes, Fíli?” she replied politely, half way out. He looked uncomfortable having to question her in her own home. “I’m going to do some gardening”. He went back inside of his room and returned when she was about to leave. He carried his own leather coat with him, his pipe – the one she used, she recognized – on his hand. She didn’t know what to say, so she went outside, the bitter cold waking her up.

 

“You do your gardening at night?” He asked, walking closely besides her.

 

“Sometimes”. They reached the small green house she kept in the back. “I was supposed to water them before, but I fell asleep…” The green house had been her own little project when she had moved in with Primula and Drogo. The final objective was eventually being able to settle a flower business, yet it was now another of her unfinished failures.

 

“I meant to apologize for earlier,” he said softly, coughing roughly, obviously unaccustomed to making apologies. She avoided rolling her eyes at his physical effort. “Kíli was right, I was being a prick”.

 

“Apology accepted,” she said extending a hand, peace offering indeed. He looked at her hand as one would an orc, before taking it in his. She tried ignoring – failing miserably – the warmth of it, how in spite of their obvious size differences, they fitted nicely. His hand was calloused and rough at her touch but it was equally gentle and inviting. The touch lingered a bit more than was necessary, before she recovered her now warm limb. He gave her a bright smile, she couldn’t refuse to return.

 

He helped her in silence, following her instructions strictly. She would catch him from time to time, touching an unfamiliar bloom with his big fingers, curiosity evident in his eyes. When they finished the rounds, he asked her if he could come back next time, to which she might have agreed too quickly to seem disinterested. They parted when he entered his room, a wide smile on his lips. She checked on Frodo before going to her room and changing to her night gown. Regardless of the nap she had taken earlier, she was exhausted. As soon as she hit the pillow, she was gone from the world.

 

A familiar scream woke her. Frodo. She stood up quickly, dizziness stopping her for a second, before she went to the kitchen, ready to attack. She didn’t know she had grabbed an umbrella for protection until she reached the door. Frodo had been falling into Kíli’s arms, the trajectory demonstrating Fíli had thrown him from the other side of the table. The sweat on her nephew’s forehead indicating it was probably not the first time they threw him. Bofur was using one of her good aprons – those gifted but never used due to her inability to make edible food– cooking away what appeared to be a heavy breakfast, all meat and sausages. Nori was sitting at the small breakfast table, feet comfortably over its edge, mud dropping all over the oaken surface.

 

“Nina!” Frodo squealed, from his position above Kíli’s shoulders. The dark haired dwarf holding her nephew, had the decency to look guilty, her disheveled state and the umbrella at her hands – yielded how she thought a sword would be held – revealing her shaken awakening. They had the decorum as well of not laughing, for she knew she would look ridiculous. After seconds passed and no one said a word, she noticed Bofur had turned to the burners, his ears deep red. Nori seemed to have gotten stuck on something, he coughed uncontrollably. Kíli was looking to the ceiling, his face redder than any tomato she had ever grown. It was Fíli who cleared the reason for the tension in the room. He was looking at her, as one would to a very delicious pastry from Lobelia’s pantry. She noticed she had overlooked in her hurry to take her robe to cover her nightgown, which due to her inability to finish unpacking her belongings, was a very revealing, laced, thin number meant for hot summer eves. For a mere second after she noticed him, Fíli’s eyes were those of a predator about to take the first bite. When he noticed her coloring turning red, he mimicked his brother looking to the ceiling. Yet before she got to stutter or even breath, the worst happened.

 

“Primrose Gardenia Brandybuck, what in the name of Yavanna is this?!” Primrose had forgotten it was Tuesday. She had absolutely overlooked how Lobelia loved entering her house without announcing herself.  She had most _definitely_ forgotten to tell her she was expecting company. Male company was staying in the house of an unwedded female, without a proper chaperone. _Drat!_ She was in for ear pulling.

 

“Darling Lobelia!” She greeted, her voice dripping with fake enthusiasm. She looked for anything to cover herself, but found nothing, her cheeks burning red. A warm coat fell on her shoulders, which she hurried to close the front before noticing the earthy smell that went with it. Proximity and logic told her it belonged to Fíli.

 

Lobelia looked about to get a stroke. It had all happened fast. She looked from Rose, to the coat, to the blonde dwarf behind Rose, to the rest of the dwarves in the kitchen, to Frodo hanging from Kíli’s arms. The thing with Lobelia was that even in her most surprised state, she managed to push words out of her mouth. “What is the meaning of this Primrose?” The older hobbit questioned with a high shriek.

 

“I- I” Rose stumbled upon words, unsure of which answer would get her off the spot Lobelia placed her in. “I might have forgotten-“

 

“Forgotten?” Lobelia echoed with disbelief. “Dwarves! Of all your silly ideas..! _Dwarves!”_ She slammed the kitchen door shut behind her; effectively closing off the exit Rose had planned using. “The Old Took will die if he hears this for sure! What would your sister…” The thing with Lobelia was that even when she managed to push words from her mouth, no one ever said they would be the smartest or most prudent.

 

“Do not bring my sister into this,” Rose snapped darkly, nervousness forgotten. Lobelia’s hand had jumped to seal her mouth when the words had escaped, eyes wide with something akin to regret. “I have done nothing improper, they are friends of Bilba and they _will_ remain in Bag End until they need to. Now if you’ll excuse me, ” Rose spun quickly on her heels, waiting no reply, not minding the previous wound, taking the longer route out. She went to her chambers, her heart beating wildly on her chest. She took clean clothes and locked herself in the bathroom. A short bath later, she felt ready to deal with Lobelia, the dwarves and whatever the Green Lady meant to throw today at her. She folded Fíli’s coat over her nightgown. For a second, she humored herself and dipped her nose on the well-used leather. If the owner of the garment had been another hobbit, she would have - accidentally of course- drop a bit of her perfume on it, to see how well the scents mixed. She gave a sigh followed by a silly giggle at her juvenile thoughts. She was going insane and the dwarves had only stayed one night. She would end up bunkers if they remained longer than a week. The flask of perfume was so conveniently close. She shook her head and took the garments away, in case she got a spurt of recklessness. She left the coat in his and Kíli’s room, returning to the kitchen.

 

“Nina!” Frodo greeted from Lobelia’s lap, his eyes brightening at her sight, warming her heart deeply, animosity forgotten immediately. The small hobbit struggled to escape his cousin’s hold. All dwarves were sat in the table, uncomfortable silence above all, except for Frodo’s happy chirpings. Rose approached, leaning to take him in her arms. A small glare from Lobelia’s hazel eyes told her all hadn’t been forgotten but would not be discussed further. Not yet at least.

 

“Good morning my little grass hopper!” She cooed as she leaned into the crock of his neck, taking in the smell that was so deliciously his. She had always been fond of fauntlings. Her own nephew giggled when her cold nose touched his neck.

 

A loud cough from Bofur called her attention. The dwarf was serving her a plate, since it was apparent they had all eaten. Even Lobelia had half a cup of tea in front of her. Rose bit her tongue, refusing to ask who had made it. “Would you wish to go tomorrow to Tuckborough?” She asked Nori, who seemed to be the only one not about to jump into a fight.

 

“Tuckborough?” Bofur echoed. She sat between Lobelia and Kíli, her eyes avoiding meeting blue ones across the table who seemed attached to her face – at least this time he was looking at her face, from what she could see in the border of her sight.

 

“If you mean to bring something to a negotiating table, you must speak with grandfather, for he is the Thain,” Rose added. “I’m sure Bilba must have told you this at least”. The dwarven company then looked a Fíli – which surprised her – before he nodded.

 

“What negotiating?” Lobelia asked from her seat, unable to resist her own curiosity.

 

“Bilba requests help to fix the lands near the Lonely Mountain,” Rose explained shortly, not willing to go down the road of Lobelia’s silly pettiness towards their cousin.

 

“Of course Bilba _requests_ whatever she pleases!” Lobelia exclaimed with a scoff. The dwarves tensed at her words.

 

“She does not mean any offence,” Rose explained quickly, after she noticed Fíli’s hands touching the hilt of his sword. Honestly! Swords in her breakfast table, as if they could be attacked in Hobbiton! Lobelia gave another scoff, rolling her eyes.

 

“Lady Baggins is King Thorin’s intended, a slight in her honor is a slight on his, whom we are bound to defend,” Fíli answered with a noble air she had yet to meet, but was strangely suiting. His blue eyes were narrowed on Lobelia’s form. In spite of the attention, the elder of the hobbits looked more impervious than ever, sipping calmly her tea. Rose knew her tell though; she knew if she looked down under the table her toes would be glistening with sweat. Also, she imagined Lobelia was biting her tongue to avoid responding to what she could only perceive as a taunt.

 

“If you wish to go tomorrow, today we could go for a walk around?” She offered trying to change subjects.

 

“Good idea lass!” Bofur agreed with more cheer than necessary. “We’ll rest our old bones while you take the dwarflins to scout”. Fíli turned first to Bofur, giving him a cold glare at the endearment.

 

“Lili!” Frodo squirmed at her lap, leaning to grab Kíli’s offered hand. The dark dwarf gave her a questioning look, which she answered by passing the young hobbit on her lap to the dwarf. Frodo chuckled and resumed his dwarven studies, taking hair, coat and everything unattached into his mouth.

 

“Oi! It’s Kíli not Lili!” The victim of Frodo’s attack whined, his heart not into it. Rose smiled widely, happy that at least one of the hobbits in the smial was content. Without Frodo on her lap, she was able to eat her breakfast – or maybe this counted as her elevensies, since it was probably late -.

 

“If I can give you an advice gained from experience, do not tell him not to call you something,” Lobelia said as she served herself another cup of tea. Her nearly polite tone helped cutting the rest of the tension in the room. Nori was the first to stand, asking about the toiletries, which flushing she remembered she hadn’t mentioned the day before. She stood, half eaten breakfast forgotten, before leading the four dwarves to both bathrooms. She returned to the kitchen, her food waiting now cold as she had left it. Frodo was now merrily enjoying his cousin’s attention – Lobelia had taken to patting the wild curls of the youngster.

 

“I’m the most terrible of hostesses,” Rose announced as she dropped on her chair, taking a sausage link to her mouth. Lobelia refrained from commenting, which she took as a good sign.

 

“Maybe I could ask Otho to stay with you until your guests depart,” Lobelia muttered demurely as she took a gentle sip from her tea cup. Frodo was entertained licking excitedly the beads of Lobelia’s necklace.

 

“Don’t be silly Lobelia,” Rose replied. “It doesn’t suit you,” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost 5 thousand words. Longest chapter to date! This chapter was intended to be chapter 4 but due to a small block I had .. I preferred adding some Bilba/Thorin loving. 
> 
> I have some doubts about the syntax .. so if you notice anything bizarre, please tell! 
> 
> Thanks for the kuddos :)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trying the male point of view.
> 
> 20/02/2014 Updated / Beta: crashlandthetardis <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have recently updated chapter one, I've added some text. I highly recommend reading it again. It had been bugging me for days, so there you go.
> 
> 17/02/2014: I corrected some typos I found.

 

“Where were you?” Kíli questioned as soon as he closed the heavy door behind him. A smile had settled on his lips. Fíli considered lying for a second, knowing his intentions would be questioned without a doubt. Kíli had obviously waited for him to return and was fully capable of telling when he was lying. His brother was sitting on the floor – a fabric under him, protecting the beloved wooden floors – with his sword and a polishing stone.  

 

“Helping Miss Primrose with her gardening,” he muttered softly, surprised at his sudden desire for privacy as he took off his coat. It had been cold outside, even within the well-made greenhouse. He had barely been able to clean his hands – forced really by Primrose – because the water had been too cold, almost freezing. She had gone after him, her hands turning bright red from the coldness, trembling slightly. He had warmed them between his – already warm – without thought, rubbing them until they felt warm. She had blushed prettily at his attention, whispering a thank you almost too soft to hear. Her hands were incredibly silky.

 

“If that’s supposed to be innuendo of some sort, brother, you are rusty,” Kíli drawled from the floor, followed by a cheeky grin. Fíli smirked, forbidden thoughts in his head, but shook his head.

 

“No, brother. Gardening, truly.” Kíli gave him a lopsided grin as he put away the polishing stone. He shouldn’t have said Primrose was beautiful. He already regretted the discussion they had when he scared their hostess away. Kíli had suggested – tried threatening but fell short, - for him to apologize and stop teasing the lass.  He had agreed, if only because it wasn’t very polite of him to terrorize her in her own home.

 

“Good!” His brother started placing the weapons in their respective sheath, the looped grin not leaving his face. “Bilba would castrate you if you had gardened something else,” Kíli eased as if speaking of the weather, as he left things inside of the chest, going to his own bed. He was right of course. Both of them knew how much Bilba cared for her sweet – and very attractive, he was obliged to add – cousin. A tumble in the hay – the way Bilba said it, with her eyebrows wiggling suggestively – would not do. If he made her mad, it wouldn’t be only her wrath he would have to answer to, his uncle would probably collect as well. “And she knows your attention doesn’t linger longer than it has to!”

 

“No need to worry, Kee’,” Fíli muttered resignedly as he undressed and went to his bed, his coat and most of this things forgotten on the ground. Kíli blew out the candle, submerging them in darkness. For a few minutes, he heard his brother shuffling in his covers. Fíli did not move much, his arms over his head, serving as an improvised pillow, thoughts flowing freely through his head. “She’s rather feisty, isn’t she?” he voiced suddenly, knowing Kíli was still awake. He heard a loud groan from his brother, which made him chuckle.

 

“Fíli! _No_!” Loud laughter was all that was heard after.

 

They woke early the next day, thanks to Nori’s rude awakening. A pillow was thrown harshly over his head, making him jump and make a grab for one of his daggers. He growled and threw back the pillow when he saw the one responsible. Kíli had dropped from his bed, tangled in his sheets and was sharing his anger, curses in Khuzdul running through his lips.

 

“Oh! You were sleeping?” the known thief mocked with a wide smirk. “Well deserved! Took you long enough to react!”

 

“Come lads! We are making breakfast!” Bofur called, before they could retaliate. Kíli huffed from the floor, tumbling and taking a shirt with him, following after the older dwarves. Fíli took a bit more time dressing, knowing he wouldn’t be particularly helpful in the kitchen. When he headed to where he remembered the kitchen was, he made the wrong turn, so he found himself in an unexplored part of Bag End. Maps he hadn’t seen on his way before, decorated the walls. There were small portraits from hobbits he didn’t recognize. One looked like it could be a younger Bilba with a brown-haired hobbit that reminded him of Primrose. She was probably Frodo’s mother. Fíli felt he might be invading the residents’ privacy. He was about to retrace his steps when a sound called his attention, it sounded a bit like gibberish. He knocked, and got a squeal for a response that was probably Frodo.

 

 Fíli opened the door, praying to Mahal he wasn’t breaking any hobbit rule of propriety, to find the young hobbit standing in his crib, blue eyes wide with confusion, dark curls falling on his front. He probably expected Primrose. Fíli was unsure of what to do. If he left the hobbit there, very awake, he would probably continue screeching until his aunt came to get him.

 

“Nina?” The little one called, looking at the door still waiting for the lass to come get him.

 

“No, _mim ze_ ,” he approached unsure of what to do. Frodo however was ready to lead, extended arms, a clear sign of wanting to escape the crib. Fíli took him awkwardly, he had only once held an infant in his arms and it hadn’t been a comfortable experience. Frodo lay still in his arms, wide blue eyes staring at him puzzled, studying Fíli’s features. His eyes and hands settled in the braids of his whiskers, automatically pulling them.

 

“Fee’?” 

 

“Fíli, _mim ze_ ,” he corrected, surprised the little one had remembered his name, trying to break the hold on his braids. The skin attached was starting to feel bruised. His stomach growled, which made the hobbit chortle. “Can you take me to the kitchen _mim ze_?” The lad in his arms squirmed to release himself, sliding off, sprinting out of the room. Fíli ran after him, Frodo giggling as he turned through the corridors. When Fíli reached the kitchen it took him a moment to catch his breath. Frodo was already climbing over Kíli, pulling hair and sucking everything within his reach.

 

“Oh! I see he found his mommy!” Fíli taunted Kíli’s disposition, the dark haired dwarf glared, helping Frodo to climb to his shoulders.

 

“Mum?” The little one said suddenly, looking at the kitchen door. The dwarves felt the panic settle at the word. Shit. Kíli suddenly had one of those ideas that were brilliant when one didn’t think much of what could go wrong.

 

“Let’s play throw the hobbit!” Kíli exclaimed, a hint of distress in his voice. Before Fíli understood what he meant, Frodo was making a leap across the table in his direction. He caught the small hobbit, who was trembling with laughter. The little one took hold of his whiskers, yet again, beaming, thought of mothers forgotten. Fíli threw him back with no warning and for few minutes they tossed the little one as far as they could without endangering Bofur’s cooking. They hadn’t noticed Frodo’s squeals were turning louder as they threw him, probably masked by their own shouts of encouragement until they heard a loud noise from the corridor.

 

Primrose appeared suddenly with a purple umbrella in her hand, raised in a very weak sword pose, he noted. Any threat she had hoped scaring could have taken her in less than two well - placed hits. His breath caught in his throat when he noticed her sleeping wear. The laced number hugged her figure nicely and it let him see the curves he had missed the day before. It was a sight he didn’t want to forget, her curled brown hair falling freely through her back, her lips parted open. Dark rubies in her cheeks, she noticed him staring, so he forced himself to look elsewhere.

 

“Primrose Gardenia Brandybuck, what in the name of Yavanna is this?!” A screeching voice sounded loudly, making him wince. A short hobbit – shorter than either Bilba or Primrose – stood with her hands placed in her hips, only missing steam coming from her ears, anger evident. Her hair was some sort of dark red or auburn, her eyes moving wildly through the kitchen taking in the scene before her, glancing between Primrose’s too exposed figure and the dwarves. 

 

“Darling Lobelia!” Primrose greeted. Lobelia, the name said something to him, but his memory refused to cooperate. He noticed the narrowed blue eyes on Primrose’s cleavage full with distaste, mouth wrinkling in anger. He quickly discarded his coat, before placing it over their hostess, the irate hobbit turning to glare at him as if his actions tainted Primrose further. She closed it quickly, sinking into it.

 

 “What is the meaning of this Primrose?” The shrieking continued. He noticed Bofur stood, a spatula in hand, ready to attack. Nori was plainly glaring at the newcomer. It was then he noticed his hand had gone to the hilt of his sword. His logic told him it wouldn’t come to a physical fight, since the elder of the hobbits looked much like a small yapping dog, all bark and no bite.  And after countless times on the receiving end of Thorin’s anger, the female almost looked harmless.

 

 “I -I might have forgotten-“ Primrose stuttered, cheeks bright red, her hands clenching over the fur of his coat.

 

“Forgotten?” Lobelia interrupted, mockingly. His hold tightened. Nori noticed it and shook his head. As if he would attack. “Dwarves! Of all your silly ideas..! _Dwarves!_ The Old Took will die if he hears this for sure! What would your _sister_ -.” The mentioning of the late sister of Primrose brought the tension in the room to a halt. They had known Bilba’s cousin for almost a day and even they knew the elder of the Brandybucks was a sour subject. A bad reaction from their hostess was expected. Even Lobelia had the decency to look regretful, a hand on her mouth as if urging the words to go back inside.

 

“Do not bring _my_ sister into this. I have done nothing improper, they are friends of Bilba and they willremain in Bag End until they need to. Now if you’ll excuse me,” the brunette hobbit gave no chance to reply as she hurried out of the room, going past him in a cloud of anger.

 

Tension gave place to awkwardness as none knew what to do.

 

“Would you enjoy a cup of tea?” Surprisingly Nori was the one who offered, probably following Dori’s teachings – a cup of tea could solve _anything,_ the silver haired dwarf had said many times,-. The hobbit blinked, startled. Dwarves weren’t known for their polite manners, Fíli knew, but even then he felt insulted at the raised eyebrow. It took her a minute to accept and take a seat.

 

“Belly! Belly!” Frodo shrieked from over Kíli’s shoulders, urging to be lowered. Kíli complied. Frodo ran to the other hobbit, climbing into her lap, taking the cheap looking beads of her necklace in his mouth.

 

“Now Frodo, what have I told you of licking another’s belongings?” the hobbit asked, as if speaking to an adult. Frodo fell into a trance, his giggles forgotten as he looked with wide serious eyes to his elder. He suddenly sat straight – or as straight a toddler can – his attention focused.

 

“ ‘uude,” the little one mumbled, sounding remorseful. Nori gave her a cup, as Bofur started serving on the breakfast trays, glancing nervously at the direction Primrose had taken. They all sat, as far as they could from the hobbits in the small breakfast table.

 

“It’s no use to wait for her,” Lobelia said – not that anybody asked her -, as she tried combing Frodo’s hair. “She will come back when she gets over her tantrum and that might take a while.” Kíli stopped him from answering with a hit on the shin. He winced, glaring at his younger sibling.

 

“Miss Rose is very sensitive about the subject of her sister,” Bofur said conversationally, curiosity dripping from his pores. Lobelia’s eyebrow rose.

 

“Yes, I suppose the recent death of one’s sister would cause that,” she drawled flatly. She gave a look to the toddler on her lap, who had started yet again to play with the beads. She waited for nothing as she leaned, grabbing the nearest tray and serving herself in the plate in front of her. The dwarves served themselves after, silence falling. He noticed the others, with the exception of his brother, tried eating more calmly than usual, using rusty manners. Lobelia was staring at them – very rudely, he may add – as she fed Frodo, who was munching happily whatever morsel she gave.

 

“How very rude of _us_!” Nori suddenly said, breaking the silence. “ _We_ haven’t introduced _ourselves_ ,” he pointedly added. Lobelia just stared, impervious to the sarcasm rolling from the red headed dwarf.  “I’m Nori, son of Opher, at your service,” Nori said with defeat and a sad flourish.  

 

“Mrs. Lobelia Sackville–Baggins, at yours,” The uppity hobbit returned, the words falling from her mouth like acid. The family name finally made the connection in Fíli’s brain. He remembered the villainous character from Bilba’s stories. If his memory was to be trusted, she had stolen silver spoons from Bilba’s mother’s silverware. His eyes narrowed further on the hobbit.

 

“Bofur, son of Kelur,” Bofur continued overlooking the hobbit’s stiff posture. Frodo was oblivious to the tension; he had resolved to take whatever he wanted from the plate, leaving his little hands dirty with grease.

 

“Kíli and Fíli, sons of Bali,” Kíli introduced, knowing it was best Fíli didn’t speak, fearing what might be said. Silence fell again, as the hobbit studied them.

 

“Nina!” Frodo squealed. He turned to find their hostess coming fresh from a bath. Her hair was still wet, leaving small drops falling into the skin of her neck. He cleared his throat, glancing away, to avoid following the droplets into her cleavage. A snigger from Kíli, told him his actions hadn’t been unnoticed. Meanwhile, Primrose went to take Frodo from Lobelia’s lap, a wide smile on her lips. 

 

“Good morning my little grass hopper!” She cooed. Fíli’s eyes found themselves glued to the scene before him. It was rare to see dwarflings so young. They tended to be as cautious with children as they were with their females. His mother was very affectionate, in dwarven standards – probably not very high in hobbit standards, seeing how Primrose was burying her nose in Frodo’s neck -. Dis loved them ferociously; there was no doubt in that. Seeing Primrose, thoughts that hadn’t rooted in his mind for a while – not since he had first thought of a future cousin by Bilba and Thorin – came back with a twist. He no longer wondered what it would be to have a hobbit for a mother, with such endless ability to coddle. He pondered now what would it be like if his future hypothetical children could have such. Most male dwarves would never be parents, since they were too many for the little females they had and not all had interest in baring children.

 

The child in question was delighted for the attention – who wouldn’t be really? –. His little hands holding loose wet strands from her hair. Another kick in the chin from Kíli, brought him back from his musings. A discreet stare from Kíli lead him to notice the narrowed eyes of the oldest hobbit in the table. She was openly glaring at him. He didn’t have the decency to look ashamed, his curiosity too great. A cough from Bofur broke the tension, the glare, and also interrupted the endearing greeting. Bofur served Primrose a plate with plenty of food.

 

 “Would you wish to go tomorrow to Tuckborough?” 

 

“Tuckborough?” Bofur echoed. Primrose took the empty spot in front of him, his eyes still glued to her form.

 

“If you mean to bring something to a negotiating table, you must speak with grandfather, for he is the Thain,” Primrose added, continuing her rambles. “I’m sure Bilba must have told you this at least”. He felt the gaze of his brothers and his other two companions on him, reminding him his role as main negotiator. He nodded, not willing to say anything else.  

 

“What negotiating?” The bane of the table asked, her curiosity finally getting the best of her. He repressed a smirk, taking the last gulp from the cup in front.

 

“Bilba requests help to fix the lands near the Lonely Mountain,” Primrose replied between bites. A petty snapping comment from Lobelia, got them on guard. His hand once again reunited with the hilt of his sword. The only thing that probably stopped them from making a harsh threat was the presence of Frodo. Primrose was staring at him with wide concerned eyes, her gaze dropping to his sword, easing an excuse for the female next to her. 

 

“Lady Baggins is King Thorin’s intended, a slight in her honor is a slight on his, whom we are bound to defend,” he said slowly, trying to get his point across without further show of action. The hobbit he meant to reprimand didn’t give him a haughty sneer that part of him wanted. Another provocation and he would have an excuse to cute the offence short. Lobelia sipped her tea as if nothing had happened, refraining from further comments.

 

“If you wish to go tomorrow, today we could go for a walk around?” Primrose said, changing the subject and trying to break the tension. It was quickly agreed by Bofur, who gave him a nudge before referring to himself and his brother as dwarflings. Primrose resumed her breakfast after giving Frodo to Kíli. His brother would have to change again before they left and probably have a bath, being victim to the little one’s saliva attack.

 

“If I can give you advice gained from experience, do not tell him not to call you something,” Lobelia blurted almost politely when Frodo renamed his brother. 

 

Primrose took them to both of the bathrooms, stumbling with apologies for not telling them sooner. “There are towels in the cabinet, and some soaps,” she instructed absently, opening the mentioned cabinet. She caught a whisper between Bofur and Nori, giving them the mock of a glare. “No, Master Bofur, they aren’t all lily scented!” She explained them how to go to their rooms and return to the kitchen with ease, her eyes twinkling with something akin to mischief.

 

When he went into his room, his folded coat was waiting for him. “Sometimes I forget there can be nasty hobbits,” Kíli mumbled opening his bag and taking out messily his clothes. “That Lobelia surely lives up to expectations!”

 

“Just think of it as a story for auntie Bilba.”

 

The uppity hobbit was completely against having them staying with Primrose, unchaperoned. That much was clear. She had refused leaving, not even when they decided to promenade through Hobbiton. Lobelia had stayed with Bofur and Nori at Bag End, apparently deciding her nosiness was more needed there, since Primrose would be out in the open. He shared smirks with Kíli.

 

“I’m sorry for Lobelia,” Primrose said as soon as they left Bag End, one of her hands attached to Frodo, who was already trying to run off. “I know she can be a bit…”

 

“Annoying?” Kíli offered.

 

“Rude?” Fíli drawled.

 

“Excruciatingly difficult,” Primrose finished with a small smile, easing her hold on the empty basket in her arm. “She means well, though.”

 

“Bilba’s stories don’t shed a lot of light on her character,” he countered, the smile on her lips widened considerably.

 

“Oh well, those two, they fight worse than cats and dogs,” she said with a fresh giggle. “But I know they care for each other, in their own antagonistic way. It _was_ Lobelia who offered going to Bree to look for Bilba when she didn’t show up after the first week,” she confided matter-of-factly. “And even if she denies it, I know Bilba helped Lobelia defeat me in the rose festival three years ago!”

 

“It didn’t seem like that from the way Bilba told it,” Kíli mumbled, making Primrose laugh loudly, Frodo turning at the sound, giving her a loopy grin.  

 

“Bilba loves taking narrative license in her stories and she has always said Lobelia makes a wonderful villain!” They shared easy smiles, letting the unpleasant breakfast roll away.

 

He remembered what Bilba had told him, be nice, polite and try to be seen around as much as possible. The more comfortable the hobbits felt with their presence, the more willing they would come to their aid and they would need as many as were willing to come. It wasn’t particularly difficult to be kind to the friendly folk. As soon as they left Bag End, every hobbit – without exception – would greet Miss Primrose and them after she gave proper introductions. Curious stares were to be expected, even some suspicious ones. Primrose would charm them all, in spite of their suspicions, she would stop, answer questions, making few of her own. He noticed many gave her small packages “for the poor dear”, which she would take graciously a smile cemented on her face with appropriate thanks.

 

She was a lovely girl, he had to admit. She could be considered a bit too stubborn for his personal taste, yet very endearing. From his time with Bilba, he had known hobbits to be much more open with their emotions than dwarves. They were simple folk, Bilba always said. It didn’t mean they didn’t follow society mind games, but at least most of the time you could easily read their feelings plain in their faces. The day was chilly, winter just starting to recede. He had been very pleased to sense the lingering smell of the hobbit who had last worn his coat.

 

“Miss Primrose!” Yet another hobbit called on their guide. As predicted, she stopped until the lad reached out for them, a sparkling smile in her face. The lad panted, recovering his breath, handing her the bag he carried on the shoulder. He gave nods as greeting to Fíli and his brother.

 

“Oh Hamfast! Aren’t you just wonderful!”  She cheered and surprised the still panting hobbit with a hug and a sound kiss on the cheek. Hamfast blushed under her attention, mumbling nonsense as he stepped back from her hold. Fíli would have snorted, prudish hobbits. A dwarf wouldn’t have let go so easily of Primrose’s inviting curves. The memory of her, dressed in the barely covered nightgown, would prove to be a torture in the future.

 

“These are Fíli and Kíli,” the sweet tone of Primrose called him out of his reverie. “This is Hamfast, the greatest gardener of the whole Shire!” She announced, pointing at the awkward lad. Hamfast looked positively mortified at the introduction, stumbling upon his words.  Kíli was giving Fíli a look, so he cleared his throat and bowed politely to the new acquaintance. “They will be staying at Bag End for some time,” she explained at the confused expression of the hobbit.

 

“A – alone?” Hamfast stuttered, his eyes wide as sauce pans. Primrose gave him what could only be described as a very polite smile, certainly fighting the urge of rolling her eyes.

 

“Well, no, of course,” she replied, her dove golden eyes blinking innocently. Relief appeared in the young male’s face. “Frodo will be there to chaperone!” She grabbed her nephew’s hand and pulled them away after saying a brief goodbye and leaving the shocked hobbit in the middle of the road.

 

They walked in silence for a couple of minutes before she started blabbering about the hypocrisy of hobbits. “I mean, Valar forbid a female dances more than two pieces with a male yet no one questions a round belly _before_ the bloom moon.” Kíli was fighting laughter, he could see. The same argument had been made by Bilba so long ago. “It is ridiculous!”

 

“Ridiculous!” Frodo agreed, as he jumped from rock to rock on the road. This brought out in Primrose’s lips that smile that seemed to light up everything about her.

 

“Bloom nights, Miss Rose?” Kíli asked with curiosity, a bright blush covered her cheeks immediately.

 

“Immediately after a marriage, it is expected for couples to retire for a full moon cycle, the blooming moon to … ehm, get to know each other, hence, the blooming of the relationship.” She looked at everything but them, not noticing the wide smirk in his lips nor the hit Kíli gave him as he mouthed ‘stop it!’ with wide gestures.

 

“Oh yes! As heirs of Durin we call them the seven nights of Durin, for the seven days it lasts. But certainly a month must be _much_ better to get acquainted to one’s partner!” He said cheerfully.

 

“ _We_ wouldn’t wish to tarnish your reputation, Miss Rose,” Kíli changed the subject, giving him a look that could only be read as a warning. So his interest had been more obvious than he wanted. Primrose brought them out of their silent conversation by laughing loudly.

 

“Oh, there’s little you could do to _tarnish_ it,” she said, still chuckling. A wide smirk appeared in his lips, a harsh yank in the ear from Kíli, breaking again his line of thoughts. Primrose didn’t notice. Her charge however, did. The small hobbit started jumping next to him, trying to reach his ears or maybe his braided whiskers.  “Being the last unmarried granddaughter of the Thain does have its merits!” She helped Frodo jumping a gap between the rocks. “Even Bilba – if she wasn’t betrothed, of course - could come back after a two year absence and still have a nice number of suitors.” 

 

“Is there a forge around Miss Rose?” His brother changed topics drastically, giving him a side glare.

 

“Really, Kíli, it’s just Rose,” she corrected automatically. “I think there used to be one,” she mused, taking a few seconds to think. “I don’t know if it still stands, though”.

 

“Oh, we could always improvise,” Kíli said to him, Fíli nodded in agreement.

 

“Why would you need one?” The hobbit asked curiously, her eyelashes moving prettily, her eyes meeting his. The sun made them shine like the purest vein of gold. He would have stayed there studying the different flakes they held, yet Kíli with his perfect timing spoke, breaking his studies.

 

“Bilba suggested we could offer our services while we were here,” his brother said a bit loudly, touching Primrose’s shoulder, bringing the golden gems to him. Fíli would have growled, but held his displeasure at bay.

 

“Oh,” she said blinking and looking at his brother. “It is a good idea,” she agreed, resuming her step, Frodo following her closely. Both dwarven brothers fell into step at both of her sides. “It’s better they get used to dealing with outsiders if you plan on taking some with you”.  

 

“You won’t be joining us?” He asked before Kíli could change subjects.

 

“I don’t know. I would be lovely to see Bilba again, even for a short while,” she replied absently as she took some common looking herbs from the road. She brushed the dirt away, taking them inside of the basket she carried with most of the gifts she had been presented with during their promenade. “I do miss her so”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was hard on so many levels. Writing from Fíli’s POV is not an easy thing, all I wrote with him in mind ended in smut. Which isn't always a bad thing (great things for the future folks), but not very appropriate in this stage. 
> 
> *Sighs* 
> 
> Tell me what you think! Comments comments! I crave for comments!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Old Took, old flames.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta: crashlandthetardis. (go check out her fem!Bilbo story: Almost respectable )

 

The next day, they left after elevensies – not that the dwarves ate anything during the second breakfast - . She asked Hamfast to borrow a pony - the dwarves having their own, - for her and Frodo. Rose had never been much of an animal person, but even she had to admit sweet Poppy – the pony – was soft-tempered, making her an excellent traveling companion. The team of dwarves was incredibly well-organized she noted, a bit surprised. They rose early and each fell to their responsibilities.  Bofur had been in charge of the food – breakfast and elevensies included -, Nori of recovering the horses, the younger dwarves of preparing said horses once they got up the road and revising the many weapons they had. Kíli had tried making her carry a small knife with her. She managed to slip it in his bag, knowing she would do herself more harm with it than any orc could. Her umbrella would do just fine. Lobelia had suggested keeping Frodo, while they were away, but Rose quickly dismissed the idea. Grandfather loved spoiling his great grandchild too much to keep him from it. She would have to be in charge for once in stopping her stubborn former caretaker from spoiling Frodo too much. They barely had a routine when there were only the two of them at Bag End. It was the first advice Lobelia had given her, make Frodo a routine and everything will fall into place. Dwarves and small trips surely broke any pattern she had managed to print in her nephew’s head.  

 

It took them little more than half a day to reach Tuckborough, a leisurely pace set, making plenty stops to rest. The sun was not far from starting to drop. She suspected the dwarves insisted on stopping every other half hour for Frodo and her own sake. They would sit calmly, share water and a little food. Frodo had time to run off with someone following him close behind, avoiding the few remaining snow puddles. That way, as soon as they retook the ponies, Frodo would nap or fall into a delicate slumber, too tired to entertain himself by moving too much.

 

“It is still very odd,” Nori murmured, puffing his pipe. Bofur was resting, his hat over his face, a soft snore rumbling on his chest. Kíli was running quickly behind Frodo who was jumping around, screaming and slipping from the dwarf when he got too close. Fíli was laughing loudly, the braids of his whiskers moving merrily.  

 

“What is?” She returned absently, rearranging her purple wool scarf. There was too much wind to be comfortable, no matter how close she pulled her coat or rearranged her scarf. She noticed Fíli had gone to help his brother, managing to fall in less than two steps, Kíli stopping his pursuit of Frodo, to laugh loudly at his brother. Frodo had joined him, his merry laughter warming her heart. Kíli smartly used the moment to grab the toddler, placing him on his shoulders.

 

“That your feet don’t get cold,” Bofur offered, nodding at her furry appendages. She wiggled her toes at the attention and sure enough, it was the only part of her body that remained warm. Oh how she wished she had fur around her like the dwarves. She suppressed a giggle, imagining herself how she imagined a female dwarf. Frodo’s loud half whines could be easily heard for miles, alternating with heartfelt giggles. Fili had thrown a mud ball to his brother, deadly accurate, hitting him in the chest.

 

“For me it is odd that you need to cover them,” she replied with a smile. Soon after, they parted again, before the dwarven brothers could begin a mud fight. Frodo was safely and warmly tucked in his spare coat, since the other one had ended up drenched. When they arrived, she led them to the main stables on the outsides, owned by one of her twice removed cousins, who greeted her kindly, inquiring about her and Frodo. As they walked through Tuckborough, the dwarves could easily see the differences between both populations. Everything was much more relaxed and even if hobbits were curious by nature, most of them kept to themselves. There was little surprise as to the company she kept, once introductions were made. Tuckborough was very lively, there were always hobbits on the streets. Most houses were near the main roads, so the dwarves could easily see the simple life they led through their front yards.

 

“Miss Brandytook! Miss Brandytook!” An eagerly chipper call was heard behind them. A little form slipped past the dwarves before reaching the hobbit in question. Frodo had been walking besides her, their hands locked together, their arms swaying to the beat of their steps. Primrose turned, hearing her name being called.

 

“Oh hello Pippa!” she greeted with a smile. The young lass stopped at her side, cheeks red from running, her breath coming short. Her hair was a lovely shade of red, bright under the sun’s light, pretty light blue eyes adorned her face, freckles falling like dust on the tip of her nose and her cheeks.

 

“We weren’t expecting you,” the girl blurted out, her cheeks turning rosier, a frantic hand rearranging her hair. Rose’s eyebrows shot up in confusion. “I mean, I wanted to give you this,” the fauntling added, pushing a small well wrapped package to Rose’s free hand. The older hobbit looked at the youngster, still unsure of what was it all about, a polite smile on her face. It had been some time since she had seen Pippa, not since she had ended her _secret_ liaison with the youngest of the Fariadak sons, who was the youngest of her  many brothers.

 

“Thank you my sweet,” she appreciated earnestly, in spite of not knowing the content. She had taken care of Pippa when she was but a small rosy cheeked baby. “Should I open it now?” After a furious nod from Pippa, Rose let go of Frodo’s hand, sure he would not run away when presented with a curious gift. His little hands helped her in ripping the paper away. A small bag was inside full of seeds she immediately recognized.

 

“How did you get this, little dove?” She asked, surprised by the content. The smell that exuded from the small bag, along with the curious bluish color of the seeds, was easy to identify. Rose had only seen them once, from a merchant in passing. She had paid a hefty sum for the seeds and it had been very hard work to get the flowers to bloom, almost twelve years she had to tend them and wait. It had been worth the trouble, the beauty astounding. She had never considered doing it again, though.

 

“Oh I didn’t! Hildigrim went to find them for you,” the girl told with enthusiasm. Something dropped inside of Primrose’s stomach. So apparently word of her inheriting Bag End had found its way to Tuckborough. “He knows you favor them greatly,” she added smartly, a cheeky grin on her lips and any attempt of subtlety dropped completely when the young girl gave a wink. Rose attempted a smile, but her face seemed frozen.  

 

“So he went over the Blue Mountains to get them?” Nori asked, after snapping the bag from Rose’s hands and placing them in his nose for inspection. “Kurinji, or blue blooms in Westron, are only found in the northern peaks of the Blue Mountains,” he added, sinking his nose again to take in the sweet smell.

 

“Eh, I’m sure he did! He said so himself!” Pippa hurried defending her absent brother, as Rose took back the small bag. “Two whole days it took him!” The whole notion was ridiculous, only getting to the chain of mountains would take a week at least, even Rose knew that. She didn’t doubt Hildigrim would have altered the real origin of the seeds to his little sister, taking advantage of the biased pride the little one held on the youngest of her brothers.

 

“Oh, did he now?” Primrose humored, knowing it would do little to argue. The dwarves could tell she believed no word of the great adventures of Hildigrim. She ruffled the girl’s copper curls, before standing. “Well, tell him I thank him for his troubles, I’ll make sure to bring some when they do flower.” She resumed her hold on her nephew, the bag of seeds at the outer pocket of her burgundy coat, dropping a kiss on Pippa’s forehead.

 

“Mother wanted to ask if you wished to come for tea,” Pippa rushed to ask, her eyes wide open, the connection between the gift and the invitation clearer than a blue summer sky. A loud snort was heard from Bofur, with few words in _Khuzdul_ , Nori said something amusing, making Kíli let out a bark of laughter. Fíli remained quiet. Rose clenched her teeth together. She had to admit defeat when she was beaten. After receiving a generous gift, it was expected of her to say yes. And she was completely sure Pippa’s mother would think it wise to let Hildigrim share tea with them.

 

“Of course!” she agreed with a forced smile, knowing propriety indicated for her to accept and it would do nothing to try avoiding the inevitable. The girl beamed, proud of her accomplishment, unaware of the deeper power play of her interaction. The rest of the walk passed quickly, few words shared, as the dwarves were immersed in studying everything they got to see. When she saw the familiar yellow door of her childhood home, she quickened her pace, leaving the dwarves behind. The road was clear enough. The door opened to reveal the round silhouette of her grandfather. The greatest of grins adorned his wrinkled face. He probably had been waiting for them by the door. Her heart felt larger than anything, love for the old hobbit that had been her sun and stars for so many years, making it swell with happiness.  

 

“My lovely wild Rose,” grandfather greeted, hurrying from the door to greet her by the road, as fast as his cane allowed. “Aren’t you the prettiest of them all?” he asked charmingly, kissing both of her cheeks soundly.

 

“You say that to all girls,” she replied fondly with a smile, not at all offended by the generic greeting. It hadn’t been long since she last saw him, but the few weeks seemed so much longer in her mind. Her heart felt much lighter in his presence.

 

“Only to my own!” he defended, a youthful grin on his lips. He ruffled Frodo’s long curls – she had to cut them soon, she reminded herself. “Frodo my chap!” Frodo’s eyes were wide as sauce pans, a silly smile on his lips.  A kiss and a hug later, Gerontious tried to pass candy to Frodo discreetly, but by now she was used to their antics. She rolled her eyes, turning to see the dwarves who had caught up with the little baggage they had. “So these are the dwarves who stole my Bilba?” He had an inviting grin on his face, the question lacking animosity.

 

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Master Took,” Fíli said in that serious tone she had caught a few times, bowing low gracefully. The many braids of his head twinkled bright with the sun and he looked so very beautiful, she thought. “Prince Fíli, son of Bali, nephew and heir of King Thorin, King under the Mountain.” She blinked a couple of times, the great introduction stealing words from her mouth. It continued in the same line, all dwarves bowing low and respectfully, counting titles and relations with solemnity. She couldn’t tell if her grandfather was amused or offended, his eyebrows rising too high. Finally, a small chuckle escaped him and his amusement was clear. He patted the young dwarf’s shoulder.

 

“We are not grand people, Master Fíli, or perhaps I should use other honorific?” He asked rhetorically, continuing his musings with a bright grin. “I’m Gerontious Took, better known and also answer better to Old Took!” 

 

“Just Fíli, Master Took,” the blonde dwarf said humbly, a small smile of amusement in his lips. Surely they had expected something else. What had Bilba told them of their grandfather?

 

“If I may call royalty by name, then don’t let me stop you from using my own, lad,” Gerontius chuckled, shaking the hands of the rest of the company, returning to Rose’s side. He squeezed her hand, a content grin permanently fixed on his lips.

 

“Poppy? ‘Ood?” Frodo interrupted, his hands pulling at the elderly hobbit’s trousers.

 

“Hungry little munchkin!” Rose exclaimed, surprising the little one by grabbing him into her arms, Frodo giggled, trying to fight her hold with no real effort. “Let’s see what auntie Ollie has made for you.”

 

“You know, since you’ve been gone, I may have finally gained a few pounds with Ollie’s cooking,” Old grandfather Took said teasingly with a full grin. “I can actually digest something!”

 

“Was it really that bad?” She muttered embarrassed, Frodo pulling her hair calling her attention back to his food. Her eyes must have shown something unpleasant, for grandfather was quick to give a peck on her reddened cheeks.

 

“Oh dear child! Worry not! I would eat dirt and stones if only you would serve it!” He ruffled her dark hair with effort, Rose was now a few inches taller than him and his joints weren’t what they used to be. Her face brightened considerably, her eyes sparkling with the sun. She leaned and planted a delicate kiss over the old hobbit’s cheek, making the receiver grin widely. “That’s better! Now let’s make these dwarves at home!” With said words, he supported his wide form with the cane and made his way inside of the ancient smial. Primrose turned to the dwarves, a sheepish look on her face, she nervously brushed her hair back to place, Frodo secured at her hip, licking the locket of her neck.

 

“That’s one interesting hobbit!” Bofur said appreciatively. She chuckled, glad for the first good meeting, knowing her grandfather would prove to be tougher while negotiating. When they entered, her uncle and aunt were already waiting in the foyer. Coats were taken, the warmth of the smial comforting on them all. They set the bags to the side, a promise to take them to their rooms after they’d eaten was made by Rose.

 

“Oh Rose! You look so lovely!” Aunt Ollie said, dropping wet kisses at her cheeks, rubbing them afterwards. She greeted the dwarves in similar fashion, propriety forgotten. Primrose felt relieved to be back in Took-land, where everything was easier and not so many things were frowned upon. “I feared you wouldn’t bring the little one with you, but here he is!” Ollie cuddled and cooed over Frodo, the infant loving the attention.

 

“How is everything dear?” Uncle Aldagrim questioned after they had settled in one of tea rooms. The dwarves were looking awkward, standing too still and straighter than she was used to. Fíli especially seemed like a different persona, his face too serious, his poise too regal, his easy smile missing from his lips.

 

“Fine, uncle,” she answered with a smile, returning her attention to the eldest of her uncles. Aldagrim had moved in with grandfather the year she had left, to assist him. Not that grandfather had been too welcome to the change. He would still complain that it was part of a plot to take Thainship. She usually laughed when he muttered his paranoid thoughts, but she knew uncle Aldagrim was too kind, too loving, to ever do anything that could damage the old hobbit’s pride.  

 

“You know you can stay here as much as you wish,” uncle Aldagrim reminded, his voice honest, eyes full with concern. “This will always be your home”. When Prim had passed, it had been him who had stayed at Bag End the first few days and she would be forever grateful.

 

“Thank you uncle, I know,” she whispered, feeling yet again the temptation of giving in and coming back under the watchful eye of her grandfather and uncle.

 

“Now, don’t make her look so glum, Aldagrim!” Gerontious reprimanded the eldest of his sons, sitting in his favorite armchair a wrinkled frown on his face. Frodo followed him closely – thus the candy he carried smartly hidden in numerous pockets – hypnotized. “And you!” he called the standing dwarves, making Kíli jump surprised. “I believe I said, make yourselves at home!” The dwarves dropped part of their awkwardness, sitting in the available chairs, Fíli remaining standing. He gave her a look, which she didn’t understand.

 

“I’ll help Auntie with the biscuits,” she offered, feeling uncomfortable under the sharp blueness of his stare.

 

“Only if you help _bringing_ them!” Her grandfather added, earning a bark of laughter from uncle. She smiled, a bit strained. She didn’t like being so frequently teased over her cooking. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t tried learning, it just never really worked. Even after one small lesson from Bofur, she could see his faith crumbling.

 

“Oh sweet cheeks! Help me take out the tea,” auntie Ollie said, handing her a tray and placing carefully the cups and the little arrangements of their finest pottery. Aunt Ollie led the way back, holding many sorts of biscuits. Rose’s belly trembled in anticipation. “Now, sweet Rose, when will you deliver the _long_ awaited news of a spring wedding?” Aunt Ollie was a good natured hobbit. She was probably one of the best acquisitions – marriage wise -, in her mother’s generation. Ollie took great care of her grandfather and she was a very loving wife to her uncle, a doting mother to her cousins. If one could find a flaw, it would be her matchmaker schemes. They were dangerous and no one wished to be under her romantic radar.  

 

“I’ll have none of that!” Her grandfather snapped from his chair, hitting the floor with his cane to make his point, making Frodo jump in his lap. Auntie Ollie huffed loudly, gray locks falling from her updo. “She’s too young!” Rose gave the cups to the dwarves, cheeks blazing. She helped her grandfather with his own, putting Frodo on the floor to avoid any accidents with hot substances. She gave him a silly trinket that would keep him occupied. He smiled happily, entertainment fully provided.

 

“Really Gerontious, _you_ were two years younger when _you_ married,” Aunt Ollie retorted, a smug eyebrow raised. She was deliberately keeping the biscuits out of Old Took’s reach, a more indirect way of getting a rise in the old hobbit. Food was never something to mess with between hobbits. Rose sat discreetly, between the dwarves and her grandfather, mortification clear on her face. Aunt Ollie looked victorious, her blue eyes gazing at the Thain with smugness, behind her silver lined glasses. She was small in size, not particularly plump like those of her age and gender, not even with the talent she had for sweets.

 

“Which makes me the expert! I was too young and so is she!” Old Took argued, cane forgotten on the floor, due to the cup in his hand. He sipped quickly, not wasting time, ready to continue the debacle. If there was something he enjoyed, it was debating. No matter the subject. It had shaped both Brandybuck sisters into small negotiators, Primula more of a peacemaker, Primrose more of a deal breaker. He had prided himself in taking them into every meeting he had as Thain, from the moment Primrose could talk something other than fauntlings’ gibberish. It had been when only the three of them lived in the Great Smials, as allies and fellow conspirators. It had made for an interesting childhood, full with uncommon experiences, extended traveling, and plenty of adventures. Primrose had been so very happy under the care of her eccentric grandfather and the more traditional watchful eye of her sister and eventually Bilba.

 

“Oh yes, what a torturous marriage you had! _All_ those children – _all twelve of them!_ \- were only because you had nothing to _talk_ about!” Aunt Ollie said with a dramatic roll of her eyes. “I must remind you, dearest Primula was her age when she found her Drogo,” Ollie continued, with the whimsical fairy tale tone she took when speaking of well - known love stories in the family. “And she should find a companion, she’s all alone in that big old hole, taking care of a child – _a child Aldagrim!_ – all by herself!”

 

“Auntie, if you wouldn’t mind leaving this for another time,” she mumbled weakly, rubbing her temples, feeling a headache forming and regretfully knowing once they started they could go for days. She shared an exasperated look with Bofur, who seemed the most sympathetic of the dwarves. Kíli was watching amused at the speakers, his head moving rapidly between them. Nori was distracting himself with some form of whittling. It was the second time she noticed he used a funny looking tool for the job. She had offered her own little instruments, but he had scoffed and rolled his eyes. He could be very moody. Fíli was on the other side of the room near the fire, his hands still gloved. He was impossible to decipher. His eyes were narrowed in the direction of the conversation, his focus the same as his brother. He seemed like a caged lion, poised and ready to attack. 

 

“Oh Rose, worry not!” Uncle Aldagrim eased, pulling her out from her studies, cheer on his face. “She’s just worried she won’t win the bet!” He took out a long pipe from an outer pocket, filled it up and gave a few puffs, his factions pleased.

 

“The bet?” Rose drawled flatly, endless possibilities running through her head. She knew from time to time bets of the sort were made, specially by Tooks and Brandybucks – never by Baggins or Bofins -, but she had hardly imagined her life could have some sort of interest.

 

“Oi! You silly fool!” Auntie Ollie shrieked with a smack on uncle’s head. “That’s cheating!”

 

“Auntie, did you bet - ?” She stopped herself in shock, the picture in front of her unknown. Auntie Ollie was a known anti – gambling hobbit, just last year she had forbidden Uncle Aldagrim to do so, very publicly after he lost her earrings in a silly bet. In uncle Aldagrim’s defense, the bet had been poorly made, ale was involved and it held plenty of trickery.

 

“She betted, it would be this spring, ‘ _She’ll only need two years out of majority_!’” Uncle Aldagrim said, his voice filled with mirth at his wife’s bright cheeks. “So you understand why she has been pressing the matter!”

 

“Oh, sorry dear, it just seemed like such a sure thing with handsome young Hildigrim swooning over you over the rose ball,” Aunt Ollie said in a dream like voice. “How lovely did you two look dancing. Oh how pretty those children would be with his coloring!”

 

“Does everyone know about that?” She hid behind her hands, chagrined. It was supposed to be a secret. Hildigrim wouldn’t tell, as much as he wanted it, social propriety forbid him from speaking of it. And yes, she had fancied him for a time, but she had also forgotten about him for a longer one, until Pippa gave her the blue bloom seeds.

 

“Oh darling! This isn’t Hobbiton, we are not Bagginses – no offence to little Frodo, – and you weren’t exactly hiding!” Auntie Ollie said as if brushing off an offense. “Even Bilba bet you would marry last year!”

 

“Oh, we can collect!” Uncle Aldagrim exclaimed, taking a little leather-bound book from one of his pockets, marking the fact.

 

“Good riddance!” Grandfather growled angrily. “Good for nothing cabbagehead!”

 

“Oh Gerontious, no need to be a sour player,” Aunt Ollie tsked disapprovingly. “It’s not our fault you got late and couldn’t participate!”

 

“Grandfather, would you care for a biscuit?” She asked loudly, standing and taking the tray a bit roughly from aunt Ollie’s grip. She offered the sweetened pastries. The Thain huffed, taking two, glaring at Aunt Ollie. Kíli’s feline grin couldn’t be bigger when she offered Aunt Ollie’s treats, reminding her that they seemed to be destined to bear witness to her everyday embarrassments. Nori said something in _Khuzdul_ that sounded like a threat – but being honest, most of the things they said in their language sounded like a threat – that did nothing to diminish the mischief shining through the youngest of the dwarven company. Kíli grinned at the red headed dwarf, taking a big bite out of the biscuits.

 

“This are delicious, Mrs. Ollie!” Kíli uttered between bites. It was all it took to disperse the tension; Aunt Ollie took the conversation in her hands to brag about her famous recipes. Frodo finally got enough food from his eldest relative in the room, who had been giving him all sorts of candies not very subtly, pastries and sweet goodies that probably had been stashed in his pockets while waiting for the fauntling. The toddler wobbled across the room unstably until he reached her knees. She took him carefully, his pouty lips informing her of his sickened disposition.

 

“Well, now that you are fed, if you don’t feel too tired, we could go to my study to discuss whatever great idea my Bilba has set her furry feet into,” the Old Took stood with difficulty, Ollie trying to help him, but he smacked her hand away. “I might be old, but my joints aren’t rusty!” Aunt Ollie humphed, clearing up the room from cups and pastries.

 

She followed her grandfather, the dwarves and uncle Aldagrim close behind her. “Grandpapa? I should put Frodo to bed,” she informed hesitantly.

 

“Nonsense, I gave him enough sugar to last for a few hours! That always worked with you!” he said cheekily, dropping at the seat nearest to the hearth. It did feel colder inside of his study. “I do need you to put your uncle Aldagrim up to speed in negotiation!” Uncle Aldagrim directed the dwarves to gather enough chairs across the table, pulling out a seat for her, ignoring his father’s comments. She blushed, smiled and thanked, pressing Frodo to her chest. “Even when she was five and no taller than my knee, Rose would have never let those uppity Chubb – Baggins get away with it!”

 

“Father, those were their lands,” Aldagrim drawled, unamused. He was used to grandfather’s teasing and bad taste remarks and from time to time he would answer the petty remarks with some of his own. For Gerontious Took, it was a sign of a weak spine. Rose knew that patience and love helped Uncle to rise above the teasing. He would be a great Thain, different in every way to her grandfather but just as efficient.

 

“And those were my crops!” The cane flew, hitting the ground furiously. A whimper from Frodo set her priorities in order. It had been too much sugar for him, she knew. She felt bad for not stopping her grandfather sooner but also knew that if she had, then it would have been Auntie Ollie who would have continued supplying treats to the fauntling in her lap. She brushed his hair away from his face, his eyes shutting close at the caress, hearing a small hum coming from his chest.

 

“Do you know how to make business with hobbits, Master dwarf?” Grandfather asked Fíli directly, his tone serious, his easy smiles forgotten.

 

“Lady Bilba has told me of the differences between hobbits and dwarves,” Fíli said nodding softly. He sat opposite to grandfather, his back too straight, his face settled in a blank stare. If she had known there would a change of composure, she would have advised against it. Her grandfather was not big on ceremony and usually thought wrongly of those too attached to a sense of decorum. She wondered why Bilba hadn’t deemed it necessary to mention.

 

“Then tell me what you need and I might tell you what to do to get it,” Gerontious said directly, his gaze unwavering, not letting anything slip from his experienced eyes.

 

“Bilba decided against it, but as dwarves it would be unheard of for us not to offer to settle the deal in treasure,” the golden haired dwarf began, pulling out a small parchment. He pushed the weathered paper for the hobbits to read. Grandfather pulled out his glasses from his outer pocket. He read the parchment before passing it over to Rose. She gave her Uncle an apologetic look. There was a lot of gold, silver, and gems described. Something that would be tempting if hobbits had any use of such enormous quantities. It was a kind offer, yet it thought little of the needs of her people. “It is a generous offer from us, due to King Thorin’s attachment to Lady Bilba, no similar offer has been made to anyone besides the Shire.”

 

“Gold and gems, sticks and stones, they matter not to me nor mine,” Old Took finally said, his voice strong. “You’ll have me breaking families for gold, abandoning their homes for a few rubies, Master dwarf?”

 

“We would have no breaking of families at all, if it were possible. We only wish for you to offer your aid in our endeavors, we would pay your services with what we have plenty.” There was no hesitance in his voice, it didn’t falter nor gave anything other than what he wished to say.

 

“If your current predicament doesn’t make you understand how little gold is worth,” she said softly, everyone turning to see her, surprise evident on their faces. Fíli let a confused glimpse filter through his eyes. “A thing has the value one is willing to bestow upon it. You are asking for our help, knowing your gold which in your words, you have plenty, will not feed you on its own”. She felt her grandfather blowing with pride, her cheeks turning rosier. “Gold is something we have no need or want of”.

 

“Staying with us for the little time you have, will help you understand Master Dwarf,” the Thain continued. “Since you look like nice folk, I’ll give you another chance. I will tell you what every hobbit cares for above all else, and you’ll tell me how your hairy folk might fit into it. A hobbit cares for their family, a full den, plenty barrels of ale, and enough fauntlings running through a lovely garden”. Gerontious stood up with difficulty. “You tell _me_ why would I make them leave their homes, their comforts and their children, to treat desolation and we’ll have no problem in collecting enough volunteers for your cause!” Fíli stood, recognizing the dismissal, the rest of the dwarves standing behind him in ceremony.

 

“I thank you your words, Master Took,” he said with a bow of his head, his lips tight in thought.

 

“Worry not lad! You all seem light a bright lot, you’ll get it!” The old hobbit said with a pat on the prince’s shoulder. Rose followed her grandfather after he gave her a look. She arranged Frodo in her hold, the little one sleeping soundly over her shoulder. “What do you think lass?” Uncle Aldagrim, the ever perfect host would probably take the dwarves to their rooms. She walked besides her grandfather, direction to her rooms.

 

“We’ll have to make a committee, probably do a bit of campaign to get as many as they need. The dragon left little for us to work with,” she whispered to not wake the fauntling. Old Took chuckled loudly. “I’m sure Hamfast would consider coming if his sweetheart agrees”.

 

“You are very sure that I’ll say yes,” he said with a note of fondness, his eyes, so much like hers, looked proud. He helped her opening the door of her rooms. It had recently been aired, soft lavender scent filling it. She noticed a small crib, one she thought once belonged to her, placed near her own bed, her bag waiting for her besides the bed.

 

“I see no reason not to,” she confessed, biting her lower lip. “Maybe they might have to retouch their offer, but I’m sure they’ll find a good balance.”

 

“For gold, Rose?” He asked, leading her into the answer he had wanted all along.

 

“To help, they need it and we can provide it,” she said softly, sharing his own smile. “When will you let them know?”

 

“Oh, I’ll let them sweat a bit,” the proud Thain replied with mirth. “That dwarven prince is  much too serious for my liking”.

 

“Fíli’s not always that serious,” she blurted out defensively without thinking. A glint of something she didn’t feel comfortable with, appeared in her grandfather’s gaze. He didn’t tease, which made her nervous.

 

“Now, I will _really_ make him sweat!” The Thain announced with a vengeance.

 

Most of the inhabitants of the smial, decided to retire early. The strain from the road – for the dwarves – and the preparations – for the hobbits – had taken its toll. She retired after making sure the dwarves were comfortable, the lodgings bigger and probably more comfortable than Bag End. She had left Frodo sleeping, making soft whines from time to time. She gathered some tea to make him drink that would improve his tummy. She woke him for few minutes, helping him into her lap, to drink the concoction. He fell in a deep slumber even before she started dressing him for bed. When he was safely tucked in his crib, she noticed the void in her stomach. She knew for certain Auntie Ollie had made more food than had been served.

 

Rose slipped inside the kitchen, making no sound. She found the pastries from Aunt Ollie, taking a few in her pockets. She prepared warm milk – focusing on the white foam forming, to avoid any burnt pots -. Aunt Ollie had forbidden her time and time again to step into the kitchen, after she had tried even more to teach her, always ending in failure. There could be no evidence of her escapades.

 

“It’s two seconds away from burning,” a hiss said from behind her, shoving her lightly and pulling the pot from the fire. Indeed, when Fíli stirred, the spoon already found residue attached to the pot. His blue bright eyes narrowed as he looked with some disgust at the almost ruined cooking device.

 

“I’m sorr-“

 

“You really are clueless in the kitchen,” he snapped bluntly, not bothering to look at her. She felt her cheeks blazing with embarrassment and some anger, humiliation heavy on her stomach. She bit her tongue from answering, choosing to step away and deal privately with her emotions. A rough hand kept her from leaving, Fíli’s strong hold pulling her back to face him. “I’m sorry, I spoke out of turn.”

 

“It is not as if you are a brilliant cook yourself!” she snapped, anger bubbling at the manhandling. He didn’t take offense, laughing loudly – maybe too loudly, she thought glancing at the kitchen door -. His hold on her loosened, his fingers lingering on her forearm, caressing the bruised skin.

 

“I’m sorry, my feelings were conflicted before I came in,” he apologized nobly, his rough fingers on her skin making her miss half of what he said. She took her arm out of his hold when she noticed her dazed state. His eyes softened, looking more like himself than the character he had been playing all afternoon. He took the pot, throwing away the burned up milk. He warmed more, taking two cups to serve. “I thought your grandfather would be easier, to be honest”.

 

“People do tend to underestimate hobbits,” she conceded taking a sip from the milk warmed to a perfect temperature. She led them to the library, sitting on the floor by the hearth, nearby. Fili prepared the fire much quicker than she thought possible, the heat soon filling the room. “He doesn’t like serious people,” she commented casually, his eyes widening in comprehension.

 

“Then I must have been noted as a fool,” he muttered, earning a giggle from her.

 

“Just be yourself and he might agree with that adjective eventually”. He grinned widely at the slight insult. She didn’t notice she had missed his joyful disposition since they had met her grandfather, his frown being like a gray cloud over an otherwise sunny day. She shared her secret stash of pastries, after making him promise not to divulge where she had hidden the rest. A comfortable silence fell as they nibbled on the sweetened goodness.

 

“So, will we be invited to the marriage with your young and handsome adventurer?” he teased with a slight smirk. The blush returned to her cheeks with ferocity.

 

“It was a silly thing that happened long ago,” she huffed, arranging wrinkles of her skirts.

 

“It might not seem that way to young Hildigrim,” he continued a teasing grin, his fingers taking a corner of her skirts, toying with it. “He _did_ go all the way to the dangerous peaks of the Blue Mountains!”

 

“You are right, Master Dwarf! I should just marry him!” she announced with a mockingly infatuated sigh. “Especially since he managed it in only two days!” Laughter bubbled from their lips, unable to contain. They were too comfortable being close and knowing each other for so little time. Fili’s hand helped a lost curl go back to its place behind her ear, his finger touching her ear slightly. Something in her lower belly clenched, a feeling she knew well but didn’t deem appropriate for their situation. The wandering hand found another object of interest in her cleavage – no, she wasn’t _that_ wanting! – The small locket she would sometimes wear. He leaned to inspect it closely, his curious eyes not paying attention to anything else. His fluttering touch tickled, making giggles escape her lips. She noticed Fíli’s eyes had found another object of interest in her lips, making him swallow with difficulty. She felt herself on fire, heart beating wildly in her chest, his eyes dark with something she feared might be mirrored in her own. Her traitorous eyelids started fluttering shut when she felt him lean towards her, licking her lips in anticipation. For a delightful second, she shared sweet breath with the handsome dwarf, his beard close enough to tingle as it moved with his breathing. He took a second too long to close the gap, reason made way in her mind and her back snapped back up, away from the dwarf. She shrieked like a mouse what she expected could be taken as a ‘good night’, fleeing away through the maze of corridors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note:  
> The whole impossible flower idea came to me when I started drafting the chapter. I looked into the internet to find something that would fit into the story, to help me with the imagery ... I was happily surprised with a lovely flower that seems to be made for Tolkien land. It is called the Kurinji Plant, it takes about 12 years to bloom but when it does it covers the whole thing in violet and blue. It’s typical of the mountainsides of the Western Ghast (South India) and what is really exciting about it is that the Nilgiri Mountain Range was named for the phenomenon of the Kurinji. Nilgiri translates into “The Blue Mountains”. Meant to be or what?  
> Information taken from listverse.com (10 of the slowest plants to ever bloom). 
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> :) I'm one happy woman with this chapter. I had lots of fun writing it. 
> 
> If you like the chapter, comment or kudos :)


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The importance of being Kíli.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta: crashlandthetardis <3

Kíli was a _very_ clever dwarf, he congratulated himself numerous times for it. He prided himself in noticing things not even Fíli noticed. Usually, when compared with his older brother, they would say they were oil and water, completely different. Most people would call Fíli the responsible one, and they would be right. They would say that Kíli was too perky and a little naïve. They probably weren’t wrong. Fíli was the heir if Thorin and Bilba didn’t have a child of their own – so he had been raised under greater expectations than Kíli. When father had died, it had been Fíli who had tried filling the void in their small family. Thorin had been a father figure to them both, but Fíli had turned into his mother’s trusted companion, the one she could rely on to be careful and hold back the adventures Kíli invented.

 

It was not all fun and games for Kíli. It had been hard enough to be raised under the impossibly high demands of their lineage, Thorin, and his own brother. He was expected to be nothing short of the best, equal or better than his own brother – with his own impossibly high standards. Still, he could tell most people were more lenient where he was concerned than with his brother. It was not very surprising and even a little expected that Fíli, due to his known status as crown prince – even in exile – and his very rare coloring, managed to get attention from females as soon as his beard grew. Most had not expected for him to reciprocate the attentions, flings, and romantic adventure had fallen into the list of things waiting for the youngest of Thorin’s heirs, not their golden heir.

 

At first, it had been the mothers of the few females near their age, who pushed the little ones to gain the attention of the blonde prince. Then, the little ones grew and they pushed themselves. In spite of his flirtatious personality, even Kíli knew not many had graced the covers of Fíli’s bed, even if most bragged they did. It was enough for dwarves to gossip about, yet not enough to tarnish the image of the golden heir of Erebor. Fíli was easy enough to understand when it came to females. If one caught his fancy, he would pursue, conquer when the female reciprocated his attentions and end it without promises. The longest it had lasted had been no longer than a couple of weeks. And while Kíli had been, surprisingly, more relationship based, Fíli had not been one to make any long attachments. It was not strange Bilba had warned him to keep an eye on Fíli, not wanting a pile – a bit of an exaggeration - of broken hearts at the Shire. He knew for sure Bilba had ever considered her cousin would be a victim.

 

“Fíli is a darling, but he’s _too_ charming for his own good,” the blonde hobbit commented, brushing his hair, much like his mother had done when he was a dwarfling, taking care not to pull it when she found a knot. “You won’t mind being the _protector of virtues_ while in the Shire?” The teasing tones in her voice, made him smirk.

 

“Are you saying I’m not charming or a threat for the gentle hobbit lasses?”

 

“Hush you! Don’t make me remind you of Tauriel!” she whispered, giving him a small smack on the head with the back of the comb that he didn’t really feel. He was probably too focused on not blushing or revealing anything about the secret affair he had been carrying with the Woodland captain. Not even Fíli knew and his brother knew _everything._ For the first time Kíli had a real secret nobody knew.

 

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” he murmured dryly, anxiousness spreading through his veins.

 

“Oh really?” Her tone held disbelief and he knew even with his back towards her, her right eyebrow would be up and her thin lips would be curled in a smirk. He sighed frustrated. “You must be more careful with your little trysts, my prince,” she cooed, resuming brushing his hair. “The gardens aren’t  favorites between dwarves. Hobbits however find them almost as pleasing as elves!” He turned, to find a victorious and very smug look on her face. She was almost glowing.

 

“You won’t tell Thorin, will you?” he whispered softly, shame bright on his cheeks. He knew he should not ask for her to keep secrets from his uncle. Secrecy and trusts issues had almost been the break of the couple. It had taken so much time for them to recover. Her gloating ended abruptly, tenderness replacing it. She brushed with her dainty hands his barely bearded cheeks with the delicacy she saved for her plants. Bilba had always made him feel like a dwarfling, with all of her gentle mothering. It had been such a comfort to share her during their quest when all seemed doomed. A small ember lightening their way.

 

“I will wait for you to be ready,” she said with a soft smile. “Then, I’ll be on your side, all the way”. He couldn’t help taking her in his arms, crushing her within a feral hug. He only stopped when he felt her wince, remembering the still open wounds she carried.

 

“I’m sorry Auntie,” he apologized, checking her soft belly for any bleeding.

 

It had been the last talk they had before they left. He missed the small hobbit terribly, her advice needed. He understood his brother’s infatuation, even if Fíli did not, the lass was pretty, even more than pretty. Her face was well proportionate, big golden innocent looking eyes with a hint of mischief, pouty pink lips, a little perky nose, abundant brown loosely curled hair, soft and curvy body. She was kind, funny, if not a bit clumsy . He had been surprised when Fíli first called her beautiful, since he never so boldly made such remarks, while they had been discussing a proper apology to the altered hobbit the first night at Bag End.

 

It wasn’t that he and his brother didn’t share their views and their … er… studies of female physic. It was that Fíli had said with such a longing in his voice. When a female did not respond to his advances, he was quick to change courses. Fíli did not pride himself in a quest when females were involved. As far as he knew, Rose hadn’t exactly responded the way Fíli might have wanted, so why was his sibling continuing with the campaign? Playing coy had never worked for the dwarrowdams before and besides blushing in a wide range of red – which Kíli admitted was a merit in itself - , Rose had hardly done anything to retain his brother’s affections, or had she?

 

Fíli wouldn’t lie, would he? Kíli snorted, he would but Kíli could tell immediately. “Something wrong, brother?” Fíli gave him a look, no doubt questioning his cheerful note. The blonde dwarf had gone straight for his bag, taking out clothes quickly until he found what he searched. Obviously in a mood after the failed meeting. Fíli had reassured Balin it would take him less than 5 minutes to convince the hobbits to come and they would be back well before the spring came. Kíli knew that the time limit had been an exaggeration, yet Fíli still probably assumed in one meeting everything would be much more settled than it was. And it was clear that not only that was bothering his brother.

 

“I’m going for a bath,” he murmured, his face set in a frown.

 

“A cold one?” Kíli ventured, cheeky grin in place. Fíli gave him a full hearted glare, doing nothing to deny it. “Brother, I suggest ceasing and desisting with the hobbit!” Fíli continued to glare before turning and heading outside, a cloud of anger over his head. Kíli lit up his pipe, taking long drafts, his mind away in deep thought.

 

Dwarfs were loyal to a fault once you got into their good graces. It was a difficult task and very few outside their kin could boast such a feat. Even though dwarves were said to be made of stone, hearts colder than any gem they could harvest, it was very far from reality. Not that they were cheery naturally happy folk like hobbits when in closed doors. Yes, their culture was prone to secrecy and usually kept to themselves. Still, great passion could come from their naturally untrusting hearts, once a fair cause took root on their minds. Family was prized above anything else, due to their difficulties in expanding it. It was no secret that males were far more numerous than the females. Less than a third of the males would ever know the comfort of a dwarrowdam bride – many settling either in a life of labor, or other less frequent, yet equally accepted, proclivities. In spite of the story of Durin finding his one true love with whom he shared a soul, it was an unlikely method or source of inspiration, dwarrow’s courtships followed none of the fairy tale it implied. It was true that many when bonded would remain with their partner for life. On the other side, it was not unheard of those married more than once, either because of the loss of a spouse, or the severing of a previous unfit marriage.

 

Aside from the rarity of marriage, even less would get the opportunity of having children, maybe one every five, when odds were in their favor.  Breeding with other races was not always possible, compatibility difficult, the possibility of a child even worse than within their own. Hadn’t Oin told Bilba there would be little to no risk of getting with child when she first lay with Uncle Thorin?  

 

The door shutting close, brought him out of his collections. His brother entered without much ceremony, dropping dirty clothes in the corner. He sat by his bed, no words shared. With a fluffy towel, he tried drying his unbraided hair. Kíli could tell he was still seething inside.

 

“So will you tell me what has your smallclothes in a notch?” Kíli was not a patient man and he was too tired to drop subtle questions before asking what he wanted to know. Since no answer came, Kíli decided to use bating as the proper weapon into getting information. “Did Miss Rose find you lacking?”

 

“She’s infuriating!” Fíli finally hissed, throwing the towel to his dirty laundry, anger finally showing. Fíli was probably more alike in anger to Thorin than Kíli. It was true that the blonde dwarf was very calm and collected but he was also capable of great rage that mirrored well that of his uncle.

 

“And why is that?” Kíli tried reasoning.

 

“She was supposed to help!” the young heir said, placing his beads on the bed side table. “I thought she liked us. Maybe not vouch for us, but do something to our aid, not questioning our –“

 

“She’s a hobbit, brother,” Kíli interrupted. “We are within _her_ grandfather’s house, asking for the help of _her_ kin, and in spite of what you may describe as a failure, I think we did quite well”. Something within the previous statement of his brother, called his attention. For a second he doubted to question Fíli. Yet words left quicker than he could stop them. “I’m very sorry brother for what I’m about to ask but you aren’t being charming on little Miss Rose to get her help, are you?” The horrified look from his brother was a good enough answer before a pillow smacked loudly and a bit painfully into Kíli’s face.

 

“I wish it were that easy,” Fíli murmured, deep in thought as he brushed his golden locks. Kíli barely remembered his father, though sometimes when looking at his older brother, he would get glimpses of what he hoped were memories of a tall blonde dwarf – much like his brother -  holding him close. “I’m as puzzled as you are. I don’t know why brother,” the first of many beads had found their way into a small plait at Fíli’s hair. “I feel like ..” Words escaped his usually eloquent brother.

 

“Like stone feel?” he offered, Fíli’s eyes widened and Kíli knew the description had reached its mark well. He understood the feeling for he had felt it too with Tauriel. The metaphor had come to him in the dark caves of Mirkwood, surrounded by the welcoming stone, while he questioned the seemingly abnormal curiosity – and attraction, though he didn’t really want to admit it then – for the red headed elf. Stone feel, every dwarf but very few exceptions could be buried within a mine, never losing the perspective nor direction, always sure of air and water nearby. It was instinctual, primitive, something no dwarf in their right mind would question. Something so very …

 

“Natural,” Fíli whispered, more to himself. Kíli grinned widely. It was no confession of love or undying affection, but it was an ember waiting to be fed. It could be ignored and wait for it to stop burning or it could be guarded, cherished into the largest of flames. If Fíli chose to follow down the same path Thorin had done with Bilba (though Kíli seriously doubted that Thorin’s feelings had started the same way), or even Kíli with Tauriel, what a ride he would have ahead.

 

“Oh, little Miss Rose, won’t know what hit her!” He enthused. Kíli even fantasied for a minute what their future would carry if Rose accepted Fíli’s pledge. Little Frodo terrorizing the Lonely Mountain, little dwobbits following his lead.

 

“I don’t know Kee’”. The dream inside his mind broke for a moment. Fíli had buried his face in his hands, a sigh of frustration leaving his tense shoulders.

 

“What don’t you know?” He questioned softly, sitting at his side in Fíli’s bed.

 

“She’s a hobbit!” Fíli hissed, returning Kíli’s previous statement, raising his horrified eyes to Kíli, who snorted in response.

 

“Oh really? I thought she might be a dwarrowdam that shaved her whiskers!” He drawled sardonically, a smirk curling in his lips.

 

“You know how much trouble it’s brought Thorin asking Bilba to marry him in the middle of the Council!” Fíli murmured, distress obvious in his voice. Maybe leaving his brother alone with his thoughts until then had not been a good idea. It was positive that apparently Fíli had taken a possible relationship longer than a season. It was a welcoming first. Yet the level of anxiety in the blonde dwarf’s shoulders made his younger sibling feel a bit guilty from not confronting him earlier.

 

“Oh, are you planning on doing the same?” He questioned, trying to break the fatalistic line of thought Fíli was having. “Besides, who ever said _she_ liked you back?” The blank stare from his brother was priceless. “You assume just because she blushes prettily at every lewd remark you make, you hold her affections. One step at the time brother! First let’s get her to like you, _then_ we’ll think how to make your pledge!” Fíli blushed like a maiden, in a deep red that would have matched in a very lovely way to Miss Rose’s blushes. He helped his brother finish some of his braids, the rest left for the morning. Fíli’s juvenile mood lasted no more than few seconds when he remembered the late meeting, his eyes flashing in contained fury.

 

“How am I supposed to guarantee a home in there, Kíli?” Fíli wondered annoyed. “Smaug left nothing untouched, hobbits will not like staying inside the mountain for long, maybe Primrose won’t like-“

 

“Get us ale and I’ll give you a few ideas!” Kíli proposed cheekily, interrupting the nerve racking line of thought, heading to his bed. Fíli left in search for their beverages.

 

Kíli was a clever dwarf, a very clever one. After his brother didn’t return in the time he was expected, Kíli felt the warm feel of satisfaction in his chest. Miss Rose was never in bed early, she had said. Fíli returned a few hours later, a dopy smile in place, empty handed, confirming Kíli’s suspicions. “Good drink, lover boy?” Kíli muttered from his pillow. He never quite got the answer.

 

When Kíli woke the next morning, Fíli was still sleeping soundly in his bed, dropped on his stomach. Kíli took his time for bathing and when he returned he found his brother already starting to dress, braids neatly finished, dirty clothes out of sight, both of their beds neatly made and almost nothing out of place.

 

“So lover boy, how was your evening?” Kíli wondered. Fíli gave him a look before resuming tying his boots. Kíli allowed the mystery for now. They followed their nose until they reached the breakfast table. They were the only ones missing, all had already served themselves and seemed to be in the middle of eating. They dropped on the empty seats besides Bofur and Nori. Kíli noted with a pleased grin, Rose had turned a new shade of red when she noticed them, her eyes focused on the food on her plate.

 

“Darling Rose!” Ollie interrupted, walking towards her niece, feeling her brow and cheeks. “The apples of your cheeks! Have you caught the fever? Do I have to cancel on Mrs. Fariadak?” The hobbit lass blushed harder at the attention she had gained. He swallowed a snort, to avoid further embarrassment from his brother’s lady love. Gladly no one noticed the faint blush on his brother’s own apples, as Ollie called them.

 

“No Auntie, there’s no need,” the brunette girl eased, dismissing concern, her cheeks turning back to their normal rosiness. “There might have been a hot pepper on one of your sausages”. How she kept a serious façade escaped him.

 

“Oh good! I’m still in the running!” Ollie cheered, making the male hobbits groan in despair. “I think petunias would look lovely for a spring bouquet!” The lady of the house sang chipper.

 

“She’s not marrying the boy, Ollie,” Aldagrim said dryly, receiving a smack on the head with a wooden spoon from his spouse, who glowered. “She’s going for tea, that’s all!” After the first hit, Aldagrim managed to escape a second, but not a third.

 

“And if during the tea I happen to casually drop that I might not be as wealthy as they crave me to be, then better for me,” Rose added with mischief, a small smirk on her pouty lips, humor clear in her voice. Now it was Ollie’s turn to groan.

 

“Smart girl!” Old Took agreed, taking a deep gulp of what looked like ale.

 

“Also, it was a fairly open invitation, coming from a child,” Rose continued, her twinkled with something that wouldn’t be good for poor Hildigrim and his family. The dwarves besides him laughed heartedly, enjoying the conversation. Fíli even had gained a bit cheer, since the minute they had mentioned the invitation he had frozen on his spot.

 

“Devilish creature! See Aldagrim? It’s _this_ way one deals with pests!” Old Took congratulated as he admonished his eldest, the latter paying no attention.  

 

“If you want, you can also tell her Ollie’s cakes are better,” her uncle collaborated, an amused smile on his lips. Old Took gave a loud laugh, patting his son’s back with enthusiasm.

 

“Now uncle, that’s just mean!” Rose cried her heart shaped face breaking into a grin.

 

“You are going for tea with the adventurer, Miss Rose?” Kíli asked, voicing the curiosity he knew his brother was probably feeling, due to the fidgeting of Fíli’s fingers. She gave him a look and a bark of laughter interrupted her answer.

 

“She’s going to make the little fortune sniffer be put straight! That’s what she’s going to do!” Old Took cheered from the head of the table, an ample smile on his face.

 

“Oh Gerontius, don’t say that about the poor lad!” Ollie chastised. “He was well past his liquor, his words shouldn’t be put against him!”

 

“Even worse then! A boy who can’t hold his liquor is no match for my wild Rose!” Old Took countered, and the affinity in Kíli’s heart for the old hobbit grew exponentially. Fierceness for family was something every dwarf could relate and admire. Fíli would have to get the old hobbit’s blessing if he wished to pursue a courtship with the young hobbit lass, before another took his place.

 

“I meant to ask you if you would wish to come with Frodo and I,” she murmured timidly, her request meant for the dwarves, avoiding Fíli’s eyes and general direction. “For tea with the Fariadaks, I mean”.

 

“Oh no Rose!” Ollie whined, understanding her intentions as did the dwarves.

 

“It would be our pleasure,” Fíli answered quickly, meeting her eyes. Another pepper must have found itself to the pastries, for Rose blushed prettily under his brother’s gaze like the ripest of tomatoes. Kíli couldn’t avoid a loud bark of laughter from leaving his lips.

 

After breakfast, they went all to their affairs. Mrs. Ollie took Rose away to dress her in something _other than rags._ They went to their own rooms, Frodo trailing after the Old Took. Nori suggested wearing their weapons on view, making them share laughter imagining the hobbit lad facing their fierce battle garb. He couldn’t help but imagine a lanky hobbit, weak looking thing. His imagination biased in favor of his own brother. “Be prepared for war lads! Hobbits are trickier than they seem!” Bofur warned jokingly when the four of them were ready, as he arranged the biggest of his axes for show.

 

“Don’t we know, Mister Bofur!” Fíli cried in agreement, twin blades perfectly placed on his back, sword on his hip and plenty of other hidden knives his brother liked to disguise.

 

Primrose waited for them outside, with Frodo running around her skirts. She was wearing a pretty dress, clearly meant for formal occasions, the purple fabric of her skirts dropped past her knees, letting them still see her hairy feet. It seemed to be neatly decorated with a delicate golden pattern at its edges that Kíli couldn’t really appreciate so far way. They couldn’t tell much of the details of the top, since it was covered by her burgundy coat – recently groomed by Ollie for sure – a fluffy scarf on her neck. Kíli could still distinguish some golden colored embroidery on the hint of a sleeve. Her hair was collected in a messy braid – far from dwarven artsy braids -, few dainty purplish flowers adorning it, a silk golden ribbon on the end. He had to nudge Fíli to walk, since his brother had stood frozen admiring the sight.

 

“Oh lass! Hobbits are very cruel creatures indeed!” Nori dramatically uttered, nudging Fíli as he approached the hobbit lass, a hand on his heart. Rose noticed them, brushing an unexisting lock of hair away. In a second, catching her nephew in her arms, stopping his race. “You are a vision, my tiny lady!” He further commented at her confused eyes. She bit her lip as she blushed. “That poor sod will impale himself for sure!”

 

“I believe this is Aunt Ollie’s swan song. I think she might have overdone it,” she said nervously, brushing imaginary wrinkles from her silk skirts, holding Frodo to her side. “Thank you, Nori”. She said when the red headed dwarf offered her the crook of his arm, she placed her small hand within, taking Frodo with the other and they headed down the road. He noticed Nori had turned briefly, to give a mocking wink in Fíli’s direction. His brother wouldn’t be left behind. Fíli hurried to walk besides Frodo, talking the little one’s free hand in his.

 

“So how angry will you think Mrs. Fariadak be when she sees all the entourage you brought for your intimate gathering?” Fíli mused, trying too obvious to gain the female’s attention. Kíli walked besides Bofur, both staring with amusement the obvious attempts of the crown prince.

 

“She won’t be pleased, but it wouldn’t be very proper to throw us out,” she chirped, smiling. Kíli could tell she was nervous from the way she bit her lip and smiled a little too wide for it to be natural. They reached the smial of the Fariadaks, through a pathway they hadn’t touched on their way over to Old Took’s.  There was a pretty road ‘til the door, bushes neatly trimmed decorating its borders. Primrose took back her hand from Nori, to knock on the red wooden door. She barely had the chance of knocking a second time, the door opening widely.

 

Mrs. Fariadak had not been waiting by the window, for she would have seen them and surprise would not have been so evident in her hazel eyes. He snorted softly, hiding behind his brother, smirks adorning most of the company’s faces.

 

“Mrs. Fariadak, how do you do?” Primrose greeted politely, combing the end of her braid nervously. Mrs. Fariadak would not answer, eyes still wide and mouth now open. She looked younger than he expected – he imagined a version of Ollie -, her bright red hair had been combed with little trinkets holding it up. “It was so lovely for little Pippa to invite all of us for tea, such a sweet girl she is,” Rose pressed, her lips forming a gentle smile. It seemed to bring Mrs. Fariadak out of her stupor.

 

“Oh yes, Miss Rose,” she murmured, a tight smile on her lips. “Would you do the honors of introducing your …” She looked up and down, each member of their company, including and especially Frodo, a bit too long not to be rude.

 

“Friends?” Rose offered, stepping in front of her nephew, shielding him from view. “Oh well, I don’t do grand introductions very well,” she said sheepishly, her hands slightly clenched at the sides. “These are friends of Bilba from the Erebor.”

 

“Erebor?”

 

“The Lonely Mountain, mistress,” Bofur explained taking off his hat, pressing it in his chest, stepping to the door. “It is chilly today, isn’t it?”

 

“How rude of _me_!” the plum hobbit stressed, teeth clenched. “Please, come inside”. When they did, Pippa appeared to help them with their coats, cheerfully posing questions about their provenance that were cut short quickly by her mother when she noticed the weapons they carried. The coats were left on, except for Miss Rose and young Frodo.

 

“Go to the kitchen dear!” The curious fauntling left with gloom in her eyes.

 

“These are Bofur, Nori, Kíli and myself, Fíli,” his brother introduced shortly once they were led to a more comfortable setting. Mrs. Fariadak made no notice to memorize the brief introduction. “I’m sure you must know little Master Baggins?” Fíli was standing too straight, making Kíli suspect something odd on his behavior. His brother’s blue eyes suddenly wandered to Primrose, briefly taking in the lovely neckline of the lilac dress, now that there was no coat to hide her from view.

 

“Master Baggins?” Her eyes narrowed, as she echoed. She glanced at Frodo for a second. “It has been settled then, Miss Rose?” She asked refusing to answer to Fíli, her eyes glancing Frodo intermittently, which made the little one cower behind the skirts of his aunt. Rose looked as if she was about to leave the premises or do something unhobbity.

 

“Come, _mim ze,”_ Fíli called, patting his leg. Frodo hurried to his side, his brother taking him within his arms, narrowing his own blue eyes at the examination of the owner of the house. Frodo had taken to hid within the fur of Fíli’s coat, a small whimper leaving him. Bofur and Nori casually stepped in front of Fíli, breaking the line of sight of the eldest hobbit, who gave them blank stares and half a sneer before returning to Rose.

 

“Yes, Frodo is to stay with me,” Rose managed to articulate, her hands tightly clenched at her sides, anger now evident in her eyes. “The Thain considered -,”

 

“You mean, your grandfather?” Mrs. Fariadak cut off.

 

“Yes, grandfather thought it wise for Frodo to remain with me in Bag End,” the tone in Primrose’s voice was beginning to strain. “It is _his_ home, after all”. The small defiance in Rose’s tone brought everything to silence.

 

The tension in the room, along with the glares and the whimpers were interrupted by the appearance of another hobbit in the room. They could smell him before they saw him. The hobbit was bound to make an impression, which made it easy to assume his identity. Besides his perfume drenched form, his red curls, as bright as those of his mother and sister, had been neatly combed to attach his scalp. He seemed to be wearing dinner wear, an expensive looking jacket with an outlandish bow on his collar.  Kíli could not deny him to be handsome if not a bit juvenile looking – probably for the lack of beard -. Though biased as he was, he knew his brother to be better.

 

“Miss Rose,” the lad said when his eyes found her by his mother. He leaped to reach her, taking her hand in his brushing a quick kiss on the back. Kíli noticed pleased how quickly she slipped of the male’s hold, anger evident on her still straight posture. “How I longed to see the melted honey in your eyes again! You have been greatly missed!” The hobbit lad was apparently immune to the mood of the room, or maybe completely clueless. Mrs. Fariadak excused herself, to look for tea, taking part of the tension with her.

 

“Master Hildigrim,” Rose greeted curtly, a smile on her lips, adding space between them. “I wanted to thank you for the seeds, you _really_ shouldn’t have.”

 

“Oh darling Miss Rose, what wouldn’t I do for you?” The lad stated boldly, his smaller sister started giggling in the back, dreamy eyes obviously amused by the scene, which probably was very different from her young eyes. He could tell amusement was far from Primrose or the dwarves from his company. “I would do so again if your heart took fancy of the rock gracing the top of the Blue Mountains!”

 

“Oi, lad!” Bofur called, stepping forward and placing a hand on the lad’s shoulder for effect. Hobbits, even males, had such delicate, soft features. Bofur’s hand was too wide for the poor lad’s shoulder, its weight probably carrying a warning on its own.  “You simply _must_ tell us how you made it to the Blue Mountains and back in two days!” A deep glare came from Mrs. Fariadak’s eyes, as she came in with a simple tea tray – far from the luxurious set of Bilba’s or even the one of Old Took’s – contrasting the spluttering mess her son became at the question.

 

“We would surely appreciate the shortcut!” Fíli added cheerfully, Frodo still hid in his collar, noticing the paleness of the would-be suitor.

 

“Would you like some tea?” Mrs. Fariadak offered, voice strained, first approaching Rose. The latter’s eyes widened at the cheap little thing they offered. She took it nonetheless, barely served half of the cup, with a soft thank you. Hildigrim hadn’t dared adding other words, nervously glancing between the object of his deluded infatuation and the dwarves within her company.

 

“Miss Rose, is it true it takes twelve years for the seeds to bloom?” Pippa said, eyes sparkling with curiosity and naivety. Rose took a sip of tea, her unoccupied hand clenching one last time, before giving the small girl a wide smile.  

 

“Yes, sweet one,” She replied softly, anger apparently forgotten. “They are difficult seeds to find but even more to care for and the prize comes too late for the impatient.”

 

“I could help you Miss Rose, if you came back to Tuckland with wee’ Frodo, we could plant them together, couldn’t we?” The girl pressed, a coy smile in place, a far from discreet glance to her brother. Children could be really clueless, Kíli thought, but smiled just the same.

 

“I believe it won’t be possible dear,” Rose said softly, the girl looking immediately crestfallen. “But you can always come to visit, I’m sure Frodo would love a playmate”. The girl returned the smile on Rose’s lips. “Now, why won’t you tell me how you are doing with the flute I gave you?”

 

Little Miss Pippa gave an amateur show of her progress, which made the dwarves wince a few times. Rose however kept a bright disposition, correcting and cheering when it was necessary, the fauntling had finished beaming, cheeks bright from embarrassment. Rose offered to tutor her politely and Mrs. Fariadak refused the offer just as politely, reasoning the distance with Bag End – while Pippa begged and cried -. Hildigrim dropped a few comments and even tried to flatter Rose once, receiving only a blank stare in return. The visit was cut short when Mrs. Fariadak refused silently to fill up the tea pot, which had barely reached for half a cup for each. Rose stood, thanked profusely with a pretty smile, leading them outside.

 

“Well, aside from the snide comments at our introduction, it went better than expected!” Nori cheered as they walked back to Old Took’s. Kíli stopped and looked for his brother when he noticed he hadn’t followed. Rose had stayed with Fíli, to take her charge, thanking his brother for his intervention with a kiss on the cheek. She took the fauntling in her arms, pressing him tightly, making the toddler whine. Soon Frodo was burying himself in her collar, arms hugging her just as tight.

 

“You call _that_ well?” Rose said incredulously, walking up to them, her cheeks red for the first time from anger. “She was _awful_. And even if one does happen to forget how rudely she greeted us, she only gave us _one_ type of pastry; she didn’t even give milk with the tea! She might as well spit on my face! That rowdy sniveling treasure-sniffer-“ She remembered the infant on her hold, probably bit her tongue before finishing with a weak. “cow!” The child in her arms sensed her discomfort and his eyes began to tear up. “Nothing’s wrong darling!” She hurried to hush, trying to calm the tears following from youngling’s eyes rapidly, distress in her voice.

 

“It is set! We must teach Master Frodo how to defend his lady aunt!” Kíli cried loudly, making the little one focus on him, wet eyes wide with curiosity, fat tears still dropping on his cheeks. A nod from Fíli and Nori approached, stilling his now lit pipe in his lips, taking the small arm in his wide hand as if weighting, a frown on his face.

 

“I see a future axe wielder,” he stated seriously, eyes full of consideration, puffing an impressive cloud from his pipe. Frodo looked confusedly between his aunt and the red headed rehabilitated burglar, his aunt grinning widely. Bofur went and took the hand, sniffing it and giving it a long lick.

 

“Hands for daggers this one!” He contributed, earning a giggle from Frodo who tried and failed taking back his now wet hands. Kíli himself couldn’t allow them to leave him behind with the teasing, taking the small hobbit from Rose’s hands and bumping his nose into Frodo’s.

 

“My kin, you are all wrong, eyes like these are for archers only!” Frodo giggled happy, all previous discontent forgotten.

 

“Oi! Start with the sword, let the lad choose!” Fíli’s voice came from besides Rose. She was now openly beaming. His brother took his opportunity offering an arm that she was quick to take.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please do comment, I'm craving for feedback!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of wooden swords, flower crowns and beautiful dancers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much for the 100 kudos and the little comments, they truly make my days brighter!
> 
> Beta: crashlandthetardis.

**WILD ROSE**

 

Chapter 9

 

It was an understatement to say grandfather Took had taken the news of the tea invitation a bit angrily. He had quickly jumped from his chair – he would complain the rest of the day about back pain related to the swift movement – red faced and growled, threatening to cut off the ridiculous bushes of the Fariadak pathway and taking other even sillier retaliations. It had taken her precious minutes to calm him, much like a dragon tamer, saying sweet words, adding humor to the situation, describing how silly Hildigrim had looked or how wide the eyes of Mrs. Talia Fariadak had grown when she noticed Rose’s company. Aunt Ollie – the Green Lady _bless_ her – didn’t even inquire for a rekindling of the relationship with the youngest of the Fariadak boys. She kindly waited until both of them were alone, taking off the dreaded purple gown that had been forced upon Rose earlier in the day.

 

“Oh it’s such a pity!” Ollie whined yet again, in a tone that was far too childish for her age, sighing in frustration from time to time. She pulled the laces of the back, taking Rose’s breath away for a moment, making her lean forward for support. How Rose hated with all her fiery heart to wear such complicated gowns. Her aunt’s clever fingers quickly worked the cords but soon wouldn’t be soon enough to leave the dress behind, no matter how pretty they said she looked in it or no matter how long certain blonde dwarf had stared while he thought she wasn’t paying attention. Rose sighed and Aunt Ollie did too yet again, probably thinking they were on the same page. “He held such promise, so handsome and he appeared so charming!”

 

“There will be others, Auntie, no need to worry,” Rose cooed, feeling awkward. Technically she shouldn’t have to comfort her aunt because of her own failures in her romantic affairs. But she didn’t really mind, it wasn’t as if she had ever wanted to marry Hildigrim and her chances had been cut off. There would be others, she thought. Fíli’s handsome face came to mind, enough to make her heart beat a little faster, her cheeks get a little redder, her mind feel a little lighter.

 

“Oh yes! Of course, I’m not worried, pretty Rose! There are many other blooms in your garden. I just heard the eldest of the Proudfeet is such a dreamy fellow! Maybe I could ask Aldagrim to invite them all for the End of Winter Fest!” She cheerfully continued, forgetting the previous gloominess of the conversation, probably already picturing a spring wedding with a different candidate. Rose didn’t doubt Aunt Ollie would still try to beat anyone involved in the bet, for even if she wasn’t the best supporter of gambling, she was definitely too competitive and stubborn for her own good.  “I heard from one the fauntlings of Odette, he is a beautiful dancer! And you know my darling what they say of beautiful dancers!” Aunt Ollie gave her a suggestive wiggle of eyebrows and with another pull Rose finally felt cold at her back and some form of freedom in her ribcage. The dress fell at the floor pathetically. She stepped quickly outside of it, still in her shift, looking for one of her own dresses. The purple dress had once been Prim’s, she had worn it no more than a couple of times, leaving it forgotten when she moved away with Drogo.

 

Rose found a simple frilly green dress that she mixed with a dark purple bodice. Aunt Ollie continued sharing the details of the future liaison she had in mind, dresses she suggested for hypothetical meetings, flowers she could wear in her hair, pastries Aunt Ollie could make and they could pass as if Rose had made them. Rose didn’t even bother to look interested, knowing the monologue would continue forever, the subject was truly infinite when seen through her aunt’s inventive mind. When she was ready, Rose interrupted the description of the poor fellow’s green eyes, quickly excusing herself to find Frodo and the dwarves.

 

At first she had thought all those comments about teaching her young charge about weaponry were made in jest. She thought it had been to clear the sour air and to keep Frodo from crying any longer, which she had fondly appreciated. Yet as soon as her grandfather had retired for a nap – to finish calming his nerves and soothing his back – and she had announced she was changing the uncomfortable garbs, the dwarves had too enthusiastically taken Frodo with them ‘to play’, not bothering to change into more comfortable clothes, but more importantly without leaving their numerous weapons behind.

 

“Uncle, where are they?” She asked when she couldn’t find them within the smial, though she had given many turns around their chambers and the common rooms.

 

“Backyard, they needed space for what-not,” his uncle replied absently, waving her away briefly, as he continued reading a large tome. She quickly took her coat, barely having time to put it on before she hurried outside, the cold hitting hard on her uncovered skin. She descended the small hill the smial was settled in, slowing her pace to avoid injury. She found them nearly at the end, wooden swords in their hands. When had they had the time to get wooden swords?

 

“Oh Miss Rose!” Bofur called from the floor where he lay alone gazing upon the youngsters. Frodo was laughing farther away, swaying his miniature sword like one would a rag doll. She winced. “Out of the pretty silks already?”

 

“Yes,” she replied absently, leaving the dwarf behind as she approached the other three who surrounded her merry nephew, her heart full with worry. “Now, what in the name of the Green Lady do you think you are doing with my nephew?”

 

“Miss Rose!” Kíli cried cheerfully not minding her tone, taking a swing at his brother, who had been staring at who knows what. Fíli hit him back quickly, making the younger of the brothers whine loudly, if a bit dramatically. Frodo took the chance to start a very feeble attack on Kíli, his chubby hands barely able to hold the sword straight. She bit her lip nervously and stopped herself from grabbing the faunt away from any danger.

 

“We thought young Frodo could benefit from some basic training,” Fíli explained, his piercing blue eyes meeting hers, as she glanced up. She had to stop with the tween’s nervousness she felt under his stare, all butterflies in her stomach. She was past her majority! She didn’t have to feel all jelly – legged just because he happened to have the most hypnotizing gems for eyes nor the smile of … and she most definitively needed to stop making poetry about him. She coughed uncomfortably, breaking his gaze, focusing her mind on her nephew.

 

“Well,” she began but words failed her since she couldn’t find a real excuse for forbidding the behavior. Even from where she stood, upon longer observation the sword had neither edge nor pointy tip. Frodo did not seem inclined to do nothing but patting with it. “You promise to be careful?”  She directed at the blonde, his eyes widening probably still expecting a refusal. A roguish grin broke in his face, making her heart squirm and jump inside her ribcage. She heard a snigger from Nori that he hid well when she gave him half a glare.

 

“I always am!” Fíli replied, dimples showing in his face, a blush surely rising in her own cheeks. She walked back to Bofur, only looking back once worriedly, sitting beside him.

 

“They won’t hurt him, will they?” she murmured softly, arranging her skirts at the sides. The hatted dwarf gave a bark of laughter that eased the tension in her belly.

 

“Worry not lass! A few bumps and some roughness are good for the soul!” He answered merrily, sitting up and arranging his droopy hat. She bit her lip nervously, watching with care the poses the dwarves took and how very cute Frodo looked trying to mimic them, including the fierce scowl in his soft features. Nori said something that made Kíli laugh loudly, leaning on a tree for support. On the contrary, Fíli looked as if he wanted to murder the red headed dwarf, his sword raised as if it were the true metal model he carried on his hip, instead of a wooden imitation. Nori dropped his sword on the ground carelessly, followed by a flourished bow and a low murmur Rose failed to perceive again, probably in a language she had yet to understand. The thinnest of the dwarves walked to where Rose and Bofur sat, dropping next to her with a huff, a smirk still hidden beneath his numerous braids.

 

“What was that all about?” She asked, curiosity getting the best of her.  Nori laughed whole heartedly, showing all of his big teeth, brushing the braids that sprouted out of his eyebrows and joined the hair of his scalp.

 

“I was warning the lad to be on his feet, of course!” An attempt at innocence played in his eyes, which she didn’t buy for a second. Nori reminded her too much of Frodo when he had done something he knew was wrong but she had yet to catch what it was.  The dwarf in question took out one of the strange instruments he used for carving, pulling another for Bofur, who caught it without a blink. They both procured pieces of wood thick enough to carve. In few minutes, she knew they were capable of producing very detailed wood work. She knew theirs would be the talents more sought after if they began working in Hobbiton. Hobbits loved wood work, her house was a living proof. Bungo had been an artist and he had made Bag End with such exquisite detail that even today, Rose could still find little pieces yet to discover.

 

As they focused on the job at their hands, Rose ignored thoughts of the things she would have to do with the dwarves in order for them to gather enough volunteers for their trip back to the Lonely Mountain and she felt free to let her eyes roam at the scene before her. She had hardly ever seen sword fighting. When she was little, in one of the visits she took to Brandyhall, she remembered her eldest cousins fighting with long sticks and using whatever they found as a shield – including their own little cousins - . The dwarves were different. She assumed it was partly because they were attempting to instruct her nephew and because they were hardly fighting each other. For a second she entertained the idea of what their practices would look like if they weren’t playing, shaking it off minutes later with a fierce blush on her cheeks. She needed to _stop_ reading the books Petunia insisted on leaving at Bag End.

 

Kíli and Fíli would try showing Frodo how to hold the small sword in his hand, demonstrating between themselves. Kíli usually laughed long and hard at Frodo’s antics, especially when he dropped his fake weapon and tried attacking them weaponless, squealing first. Fíli would perhaps show a smile, immediately frowning and resuming his instructions as if Frodo were at least forty years older and he was testing for a guarding position. Frodo didn’t seem to respond to their learnings, since Rose had yet to see any change of conduct from the little faunt. Sometimes when the brothers parried harmlessly between themselves, Frodo would wander to catch the few flowers that had bloomed in spite of the foul weather, his hands were now almost black with dirt and his trousers were soaking ‘til his knees. When they noticed, Fíli would sigh, walk to him and bring him back gently with few encouragements, dropping the flowers to the side.

 

Few attempts later and Frodo was able to avoid completely the dwarven brothers, while continuing his hunt of flowers. “Nina!” Frodo called in one of his wanderings, coming close to where she was. He carried a small bouquet of forget – me – not, its roots dripping wet with mud. She took it gratefully, not minding the new stains in her dress. He climbed to sit on her lap after giving her sloppy kisses on the cheek, more stains meeting her skirts and she guessed her face too. The brothers didn’t seem to notice their charge had gone off, for some time. When they did Fíli particularly was quick to panic when he didn’t see her nephew’s curls nearby until he found Frodo on her lap. A sheepish grin appeared on his face and once again she couldn’t help to return it.  

 

“We got a bit carried away,” he murmured when he sat near them, sweat dripping from his forehead. He took off his outer layers leaving only a thin gray shift. She could feel the heat exuding from him even from where she sat. She forced herself to gaze elsewhere to avoid leering inappropriately at his very muscular, tanned, forearms. It was probably the first time she had seen him completely out of his outerwear. He seemed to always be wearing some form of leather protection over his shirts.  She had believed he would have lost some of the thickness the clothes conveyed, but even with the little she had been able to see, she could tell it was all him.

 

“I noticed,” she voiced, her eyes fixed on her nephew, noticing Frodo had taken to eat some of the flowers he had gifted her with, mud and roots included. She took them out of his little destroying paws, for tonight she didn’t want him to be sick again. He whined, as expected, standing over her lap looking for something else to distract himself on her clothes. She tried cleaning the dirt from his face, yet it was too much. A long bath would be needed for him to return to his normal coloring.

 

“Bofur! Let’s teach the little lad about aim!” Nori cried suddenly, breaking her musings, taking Frodo from her grasp suddenly, the little one squealing in delight. Bofur stood with an agile jump, a wide grin on his face; he nudged Fíli’s leg when he passed, and making the blonde roll his eyes in return. They were left in silence, for once not awkward since he had almost tried kissing her. A blush threatened to rise when she remembered how gently he had touched her and how much she regretted fleeing like a tween. Her lips still reminisced how his beard had tingled when she kissed his cheek hours ago. By force of habit her fingers had started to clean what was left of the small bouquet from dirt and broken leaves.

 

“Those are pretty,” Fíli suddenly said, making her meet his blue eyes. He seemed nervous, a welcoming change that gave her some comfort. She was tired of feeling so childish at his attentions and the smugness she would find sometimes in his eyes. Fíli seemed to be naturally at ease with his own flirty self, a confidence she felt she had yet to achieve. Yes, she knew how to flirt but she had never been as bold as what she had seen from the dwarven prince.

 

“They are called forget – me – nots, pretty resistant to the weather,” she explained giving him one for his studies. He held them much like he had done when they were in Bag End’s greenhouse with outmost care. He touched the petals softly, as if studying its texture, bringing it to his long nose to smell. “I can get them to grow almost every season”.

 

“Isn’t it cruel though?” He said, confusion as clear as his blue eyes that was quickly mirrored in hers. “You carry them in your braid…” It was an unpleasant surprise. She understood his meaning immediately as her hand went to find the small blooms her aunt had smartly planted in the braid. She sighed in frustration. It was obvious aunt Ollie would want to convey a message for Hildigrim and it was plain foolish of Rose to believe they were plain daisies. Aunt Ollie had never been well known for growing flowers out of season.

 

“Aunt Ollie,” she murmured, taking off the silk ribbon at the end of the braid. “I should have suspected she would have tried something of sorts. It is my fault as well for not checking before going to the Fariadaks.” The blonde dwarf tisked his tongue, his lips curling slightly.

 

“Swan song indeed,” he agreed with a grin, obviously pleased at her ignorance. Rose unbraided her hair with ease, her fingers searching and touching her curls to find the inappropriate blooms. Fíli’s hand appeared in her line of sight, going for one of her curls without permission or warning. He quickly caught what could be the last of the blooms.

 

“I’ll keep this one”. Her blood felt cold at the statement, her eyes probably wide as saucers. He had known enough to understand what carrying flowers in one’s hair could indicate. Did it mean he knew how hobbits courted? Or how meaningful a flower could become? A shriek from Frodo broke their moment, making her drop the question on the tip of her tongue. Her panic went from the male next to her to her nephew. She turned quickly, her heart going back to its normal pace when she saw him running circles around the dwarves.

 

“You are Frodo’s next of kin, right?” Fíli asked after few seconds of silence, his deft fingers still holding the conflicting bloom in his hands. She nodded, unsure of the path of the conversation. “I was just wondering, why did Mrs. Fariadak ask you about the guardianship?” The conversation of the early afternoon came back to her, understanding his curiosity.

 

“Frodo has uncles on his father’s side, they don’t live in Hobbiton,” she explained, her fingers taking the small delicate flowers and began weaving them together. “Some hobbits don’t see with good eyes that an unwedded female just past her majority should be able to take care of a faunt on her own, when there is family that could also care for him. They would have preferred for the Bagginses to take him, or maybe for me to come back and live with grandfather and my uncle.” She bit her lip nervously out of habit, her eyes attached to the work on her hands though they weren’t particularly needed since she could weave flower crowns with her eyes shut. “They believe since I’m granddaughter to the Thain I might have… swayed his opinion on the matter,” Bitterness slipped past her, the ridiculousness of it all opening the dark box of thoughts she tried keeping hidden in her mind. “I know they think I’m being selfish and Frodo will pay for my foolishness. And maybe I am being selfish since he’s all I have left of Prim. I am not a mother, barely an aunt but he will want for nothing, no matter the late nights, nor the effort, or even all the saliva he produ-“ A large hand covered her own, stopping her weaving work and her ramblings at the same time. His other gentle hand, in spite of its size, he took her chin within his warm fingers, raising her face. She was forced to look with teary eyes into the sapphires that were his eyes, expecting to find pity but he was giving her the sweetest of smiles.

 

“They are idiots,” he declared slowly as he did when he wanted his message to come across. “Anyone with half a brain knows that child loves you more than the birds love the sky,” A watery laugh left her, her heart feeling some of its weight lessened by the statement. His hand didn’t leave hers, his twin joining it, giving her enough time to compare how differently sized they were. His could easily envelope her own, which it did. She wanted badly to twine her fingers with his, feel the warmth his hand exuded deeper.

 

They fell into a comfortable silence, his fingers still trapping hers, moving smoothly on their own accord in a soft examination, touching the nails, and the tips as if they were the first he ever held. Insecurity made a surprising appearance in her mind. How many dwarrowdams must be missing his sweet words, soothing presence, and the heat in his gaze? The brief thought left a small hole inside that pressed her heart heavily that was not calmed under the attentions of his hands. She drove her focus elsewhere, afraid of the doubt that spread like wild fire in her mind. Frodo dropped the wooden sword on the floor for the third time in a few minutes, having resumed the sword training under the hand of the other three dwarves. Fíli gave a sigh of frustration at her side, his mind clearly on the training. She felt herself slightly offended by his lack of patience.

 

“He’s not even two,” she excused defensively, taking her hands away from his grasp, her eyes narrowing on the blonde dwarf’s impossible expectations. “And not even a foot tall!” He took back his hand from the edge of her skirts where it had been dropped, taking the half-finished flower crown within his fingers.

 

“There’s an old saying that a dwarf is born with a hammer in one hand and a sword in the other,” he uttered apologetically, his eyes studying closely the pattern she had used for weaving the flowers. “I forget hobbits are not well-versed in the arts of war”.

 

“That’s not completely true,” she mumbled embarrassedly, he stopped his examination of the flower crown to give her an incredulous look, azure dancing with mirth, which pushed her enough to develop further. “Brandybucks may not be the heroes of songs in your own high standards but they are familiar with weapons and some defensive tactics. The Fell Winter was harsh on us all and it wasn’t only the rangers who helped stopping the wolves. Many lives were saved by the grace of those you call _not well-versed in the arts of war_.  We might not all be brave like you and so comfortable to hold a sword or willing to take a life, nevertheless our hearts are true and we will defend those we love until the very end.” She was tempted to stand, huff and leave dramatically to add flair to her little speech, but her curiosity over his reaction won in the end. His eyes had widened ever so slightly, for a second a frown marring his otherwise handsome face until a smile shinning gold, all dimples broke.

 

“I know, Primrose, I _assure_ you I would never insult the hearts of hobbits,” he finally uttered his voice deep with emotion, one of his hands daring to take back hers. “In spite of our recent experiences, it still holds true that it is hobbits that carry the most noble and bright of hearts”. His eyes had captured hers in such way that made it impossible for her not to feel her very core melting at their burning intensity, nor goose bumps to where their skin touched.

 

“Miss Rose! Help us get his royal lazy ass to aid us with the little lad!” Nori cried from afar. Frodo had dropped on the floor, his blue eyes distracted with shoving dirt away with his small sword. With his hand still taking hers hostage, Fíli laughed with mirth, the decorations of his hair and beard shaking with him, catching and brightening with the little light they caught.

 

“Want to try Miss Rose?” Kíli quipped in, running to them, offering the hilt of his own wooden sword, only briefly staring at their joined hands.

 

“Oh, no I have terrible coordination,” she replied shaking her head emphatically, as she retracted her very warm hand from Fíli’s. He took no offence, standing quickly besides his brother.

 

“After that speech you just gave, you cannot expect me to believe you won’t wield a sword!” Fíli teased, his eyes glowing, his teeth showing an ample grin, a hand offered in the air to help her stand. “You are a _Bran – dy – buck_ after all, are you not?” She took his hand, standing, feeling jittery inside.

 

“I’ll probably take an eye out!” She cried, glancing at the sword with apprehension, all sorts of excuses making themselves available behind her eyes.

 

“Good, orcs fight worse after you sever a limb or another!” Kíli continued his grin not diminished in the sightless. She gave both brothers flat stares, crossing both arms over her chest. “It’s easy!” The dark haired brother added with cheer. She noticed the dry look Fíli gave, evidently not sharing the last statement. “Besides, hobbits are good at dancing, aren’t they?”

 

“Yes,” she replied slowly, not seeing the connection. She glanced between the two, noticing Fíli was shaking his head with a smirk on his face, letting his brother do the persuasion for him. By this moment, both Nori and Bofur, along with Frodo had come to show support to the notion. Frodo had made his way to her side, grabbing the end of her skirts in his little fist, a lopsided smile on his face.

 

“It’s the same Rose! I promise!” Kíli encouraged once again, his eyes trying to catch hers to share his contagious enthusiasm. She felt Frodo tapping her knees with his own sword, either to fight her or to convince her, she knew not. Kíli patted his older brother’s shoulder for approval. “Do you agree brother?”

 

“It _is_ a bit like dancing,” The blue eyed dwarf conceded, his eyes turning serious as they had been when helping Frodo.  He would make for a fierce, very strict, instructor if she yielded. She never responded too well to much authority.

 

“Don’t you like dancing, Miss Rose?” Bofur continued, a hand over Kíli’s shoulder. The latter smiled brightly at the united front. If they thought she would cave under peer pressure, they were dead wrong. She knew how to hold herself and she, Primrose Brandybuck, had read enough books of diplomatic relations, and had enough dirty encounters with Daisy, to know when she was being bullied.

 

“I do. I avoid it though, I end up wanting to murder my dancing partners,” she grumbled, her feet remembering the many times they had been crashed under clueless dancing partners or the loose wandering hands of others on her back. Yes, dancing never ended well. It had been Primula who had suggested for her to use her little knowledge in instruments to her advantage during festivities. This in turn, had motivated her to learn more and more until no one questioned why the youngest of the Brandybucks was never available for dancing with her allegedly _many_ suitors. More than half of said abundance of suitors didn’t know of her existence until her sister married Drogo and even then they didn’t pester her as much as the last years. Hildigrim had been the first who had even approached her, that she had truly felt herself captivated with, sweet words and small tokens, for the first time following her preferences instead of imposing his own. Handsome and charming, yet it had ended all the same as the others.

 

 “That’s because you haven’t danced with this handsome fellow!” Kíli said, his grin not weakening under the strain, as he patted his brother fondly, pushing him forward and a little in Rose’s way. The dwarf in question looked uncomfortable under her curious gaze and she made sure to remember to deepen the subject in the future. Aunt Ollie did remind her what beautiful dancers were also good for. “And I believe your previous experience will also work in our favor. When fighting you actually get to finish unwanted partners off!” Kíli exclaimed with his quick wit as the rest of the dwarves smirked and chuckled, Fíli still looking slightly bashful. She sighed, still feeling the dark cloud over her head, not willing to claim being defeated by the reasoning.

 

“ _Darling_ Kíli, I have no use for a sword more than Frodo does. My tongue is sharp enough”. She missed the gasp from the dwarves, nor the large smirk from Nori, or the shove Bofur gave the blonde prince.  Her attention was with the little one at her feet, she ruffled the wild dark curls of her nephew who kept poking her legs with his sword. She was lucky that he barely could hold the thing, for if he did she would probably have bruises by now. “I hardly doubt I’ll finish anything, Kíli. Besides, tomorrow we will need our strength back on the road.” That piece of news successfully brought the conversation to an end, apparently.

 

“We’re going back?” Bofur questioned, bushy eyebrows up on his front.

 

“Grandfather believes it would be better for you to remain down in Bag End, for your information. He also believes that the forging business will be good before spring since so many things are badly kept during the winter..” She took the wooden sword from  Frodo, giving it to Nori who was the closest. The dwarf received it without word, his eyes narrowing on Fíli who had also fallen silent.

 

“We won’t be able to make another proposal before leaving?” Fíli questioned, his voice grave, his blue eyes sharp on hers. She swallowed at the imposing figure he cut in few seconds.

 

“I..” she hesitated, searching for the right words. “I wouldn’t recommend you to,” Rose said with honesty. “He asked you to think and if you bring another proposal, you would bring something that you cooked up for less than a day in which you mostly stayed with your own. It would seem as if you were fishing for a price.”

 

“The Thain is right about you lass, good head on your shoulders,” Bofur complimented, tipping his hat forward. She smiled sheepishly.

 

“I just know how he thinks,” She mumbled bashfully. Nori collected the rest of the swords, the training finally over as the sun had begun to set. She finally collected Frodo in her arms, to make him a presentable hobbit before dinner. The dwarves talked in harsh voices. The language of theirs that always sounded very gruff in her ears. Rose had no clue what they were saying and she felt tempted to let them know how rude it was, but decided against it. Let them have their little secrets, for they were all entitled to some. She took her squirming nephew to the baths, making two trips to bring the necessities and clothes for both herself and the fauntling. She had to refill the bathtub at least three times to get Frodo alone clean. His face was now its usual rosy color, his curls were dripping as she carried him out, rubbing the cotton towel all over him. He giggled as she tickled his ears while drying them. It took her little time to dress him, since he knew only when dressed he would be able to escape in the search of his new sparring partners. Once he was done, she opened the door and he scurried away. Rose didn’t have the strength to worry what his mischief joined with the dwarves would cause in the evening. Let Aunt Ollie mother him for tonight. The warm water of the tub eased the tension in her shoulders, it was easy to snooze away. A knock on the door, minutes later brought her out of her relaxed stupor, Aunt Ollie announcing dinner was ready. She dressed quickly, her now prune like fingers quickly untangling her long locks.

 

“…ask your cousin then, for the permission,” Fíli’s voice came from the dining table. She went inside, taking the empty seat beside her grandfather. He was nodding at whatever Fíli had been suggesting.

 

“Rose, I prepared a few things for you to take with you tomorrow,” Aunt Ollie said as she brought the last of the dishes to the table. Everyone was sitting comfortably, a smaller yet taller chair between her and Aunt Ollie had been fixed for Frodo, who she noted had already dirtied his trousers.

 

“Thank you, auntie.” Rose murmured with a smile, helping to serve the mushroom soup to her grandfather – who grumbled he wanted none of it -, to Frodo – who grumbled mimicking his great grandfather’s antics – and herself. She offered to serve the rest but Bofur took the ladle from her hand, serving much more quickly than her to the rest with a wide grin.

 

“So was my great grandson made into a fierce hobbit warrior?” Chuckles were shared from the dwarves as they nodded, not wanting to disappoint. Frodo licked his plate clean, oblivious to the attention, she placed his plate away to avoid any accidents.

 

“With the right training, Master Frodo, will be as fierce as he wishes,” Nori replied formally, though his eyes were shinning with trouble. “It is Miss Rose who you should be worried about, Master Took.”

 

“What-?”

 

“And why is that, Master Dwarf?” Grandfather encouraged, his tone suggesting he shared the teasing coming from the dwarf.

 

“Miss Rose refuses to learn how to defend herself,” Nori continued somberly as if they lived in the wild with dangers at the door of their smials. She huffed, feeling indignant at their unity, even if it was for the betterment of the foreign relations. Her grandfather was eccentric enough to find the idea of sword training amusing. Hadn’t he tried instructing his own children in the art of war – not that he knew much of it, - failing only due to Grandma Took’s anger. Even after her passing, he had tried repeating the feat with Prim and Rose, but Prim was a pretty and polite little lass and Rose was much too interested in hiking, flowers, and rare seeds to learn anything.

 

“Pardon?” She snapped offended, glaring to both accomplices, unable to restrain herself from further comment. “I do very well with my umbrella, thank you very much!” She knew very well that she was being teased and though her brain told her stepping down from the discussion would end it quicker, her annoyance couldn’t be quelled. Aunt Ollie at least was on her side. The dwarves and even her traitorous uncle were smiling, holding their tongues but naturally amused at the quarrel. Aunt Ollie only refrained from commenting because she was partially distracted with Frodo who kept stealing the dumplings on her plate.

 

“Oh Miss Rose!” Kíli continued with a condescending grin that was making the anger in her stomach boil. “We agreed it was an easy thing, since you know how to dance!”

 

“Oh, she’s a lovely dancer!” Aunt Ollie cooed, over her fight with small Frodo, grabbing both of her grandnephew’s hands within her own larger ones. “A natural, even since she could stand, she could dance better than her elder. I still remember when she was a little older than Frodo; after she won that contest … what was it about Aldagrim?”

 

“Flower crowns!” Her uncle provided with a fond smile on his lips, warmth replacing the anger she had in her veins. “She beat the most experienced of each family in one stroke!”

 

“Late Mistress Boffin even changed the rules to avoid fauntlings from competing the following year!” Her grandfather added with a huff, still carrying an old grudge over the dispute he had over it so many years ago, in spite of the death of most of the participants. She was sure it had something to do with the permission he denied to late Mistress Boffin for one of her grandnephew’s birthday party. “As if that would stop my wild Rose!”

 

“Oh well, she danced and danced with the flower crown in her head until it was time to gift it away, as tradition entitles. And those boys twice her age puffing up their chests, gifting her with praises, twirling her around, stuttering sweet words a girl her age paid no mind to. But our Primrose would not cave so easily, would she? To whom did she give the flower crown?” Aunt Ollie asked rhetorically, her eyes brightening with crystal tears, that she was quick to blink away. Rose couldn’t help but to feel the moisture raising in her own eyes, as she remembered how Primula had beamed when Rose had climbed into her lap, bringing the crown into her beloved sister’s dark curls, the beauty of the feast. How much fun she remembered having, Prim never left her side afterwards, in spite of the many suitors asking for her to dance. Prim had laughed and twirled her little sister around with the music, never letting go of her small hands.

 

“To our lovely Prim,” Uncle Aldagrim stated with a hint of grimness in his tone, the happy mood escaping the room.  She noticed grandfather, cleaning roughly his eyes with the back of his sleeve. She lowered her gaze, her hunger disappearing and wanting very much to hide in the deepest of the smial.

 

“Well if she’s as lovely as you say, she must dance with Fíli. He’ll sweep her off her furry feet that one! There will be nothing left for the other lads!” Kíli exclaimed breaking the darkened mood, with an outrageously wicked wink, his grin curling in the most feline manner. Reactions were soon to come. His brother kicked him forcefully under the table, without any discretion. The youngest of the dwarves winced but did not voice his discomfort. Nori took his own turn to hit the back of Kíli’s head, while Bofur whispered something in Khuzdul that made the youngest pale slightly.

 

“I beg your pardon!” Aunt Ollie finally cried in outrage, cheeks bright red, tears forgotten. Even uncle Aldagrim had spluttered and surprisingly her grandfather had only left his spoon half way between the soup and his lips, his honey eyes narrowing at Kíli. The dwarf in question had cowered at the attention, seemingly unsure of what misstep he had taken.

 

“Auntie, he didn’t know what he was saying,” Rose tried to reason, her own face flushing in embarrassment. She had thought they had left all of the courtship related conversations behind, at least for the duration of her stay.

 

“That’s a bold statement if I ever heard one,” her uncle muttered under his breath before deciding to intervene in the situation. “Maybe our Bilba hasn’t shared certain customs,” he began with diplomacy. “.. it is not very proper to assume such of my niece. Dancing is a very important affair for us hobbits after majority, it is part of courtship, so to say such a statement Master Dwarf, it could be taken as a proposal of sorts or an offence to her propriety.” She refused to meet any eyes, keeping hers fixed on her now empty plate. Her eyes had rolled as her uncle had said what she already knew. She would have scoffed but she assumed Aunt Ollie would have reprimanded her for it. Hobbits no matter how Tookish or liberal they appeared, would always follow the rules of propriety without caring how ridiculous they could be. It wasn’t as if any of the present company – except Frodo, of course – had not bent the rules for their own benefit. Hadn’t Uncle Aldagrim once told her, after a few cups of some foreign liquor, that Auntie was already pregnant with Paladin when they married so long ago?  Hadn’t Drogo spent numerous nights over well before any engagement had been announced with Prim, leaving before dawn with the swiftness of autumn wind? Or even worse, hadn’t Rose entertained Hildigrim for many nights under her rose bushes, being apparently common knowledge? Information that was usually known but never spoken off, yet two dances with the same partner could tarnish any reputation. It was silly and completely random.

 

“Oh, right,” Kíli sheepishly said, his grin wavering slightly. Something in his tone told her this hadn’t been a clueless mistake. “I just meant to say he’s a wonderful dancer since Miss Rose told us she didn’t enjoy most of her dancing partners.” Aunt Ollie once again huffed at the words, narrowing her eyes at Rose. She would be getting a scolding in the near future, it wasn’t very polite to speak ill one’s dancing partner. Green Lady willing, she was going to kill Kíli for his cheeky tongue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter before Bilba comes back into the picture. I promise, next chap.. Bilba!  
> I might take longer to deliver the next chaps because I just started my masters and there's little free time. 
> 
> Feedback is ALWAYS welcome and encouraged! Go ahead! Ask away!


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of snow, plucking roses and yes, Bilba.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta: crashlandthetardis <3

The strong wind that brought them back to Bag End tortured them with its chill for the last few days. It should have been a warning. They were supposed to be only a week or two away from spring. Rain was to be expected and even a bit of wind. Most hobbits, like Rose, had already started to unclutter their gardens, fixing their tools, bought the right seeds, prepared the secret concoctions that would certainly make them win this year’s spring prize. They didn’t anticipate a snow storm taking the Shire by surprise this late, just two days after Rose, Frodo and the small company of dwarves returned to Bag End. They woke to find the fields covered in white snow, flakes still falling in deceiving gentleness. Rose had cursed loudly when she opened the back door – clueless to what she would find outside, since she hadn’t even had time to open the little windows of the smial - hoping to use her spare time in the morning to continue the cleansing of the garden, and snow fell inside of the smial.

 

“Oh! Sweet Green Lady!” She cried and then continued with a series of curses when her skirts started to get wet by the melting of the snow at her feet as she tried pushing it outside. The snow easily reached her knees and any prospect of gardening outside was drowning underneath the fresh flakes, for at least a couple of weeks. “I despise the snow! I loathe winter! Curse it all to Mount Doom!” All plans went down the drain. She would have to keep her plants inside of her greenhouse, which she hoped had not suffered much damage from the storm, until she could finally bring them outside. For only the Valar knew how long it would take for the snow to stop and if the clouds above were any indication, it would not be soon enough. Rose had been counting on the time she had to collect enough samples and seeds for the unknown lands surrounding the Lonely Mountain. Whether she went with the group or not, the seeds would do so for sure. Those plans had also taken a setback.

 

Bofur appeared, summoned by her pathetic whimpers. “Mahal!” he murmured at the scene before them, brushing his long whiskers between his thick fingers. The whole backyard was so dutifully covered that the fences could barely be seen. They had heard the wind whistling in the night but they had hardly imagined a snow storm had been on the brew, too tired from work the dwarves had retired early. The small hobbit at his side was cursing under her breath words he had never thought she could muster, pushing the snow outside with her bare feet.

 

“All that work to ruin!” Rose exclaimed feeling dismay in her stomach; the view outside surely made her think of bad omens, and remember the stories from that dreadful winter that had taken both mother and father from Prim and her. As soon as they had gotten back to Hobbiton, a couple of days ago, she had retaken with furious stubbornness the work of her garden, especially now that the dwarves hardly remained more than few hours a day with her at the smial. She had introduced them to her cousins in charge of the property where the only forge in Hobbiton still stood and suspicion aside, they had agreed to lend it to the dwarves thanks to the recommendation of Rose’s grandfather. The dwarves had hardly waited less than few hours to go and evaluate the state of the abandoned lodgings. From the grumblings, sweat, and bad spirit she witnessed that first night, there would be lots of work for them before they could even offer their services to the hobbit community.

 

She had opted for staying with Frodo, trying to keep him away from the cold wind and possible harm, using his nap time to tend the garden. Frodo had whined terribly the first time the dwarves had left and after the silence had settled Rose noted she wanted to join her nephew in his displeasure and whine as well. The smial did seem abnormally empty when they weren’t around. It reminded her of darker days, like the first week Frodo and she stayed in Bag End alone after uncle Aldagrim had left, or when Prim, Lobelia and her had come to the empty smial in search for clues of Bilba’s whereabouts and found it void of food and information. So she settled for a routine of her own, waking early to share at least the first meal of the day with the dwarves before they left, and then dedicating the rest to the preservation of the garden and chasing her vivacious nephew around, along with the daily housework.

 

“Well at least the greenhouse is intact, Miss Rose. You will still win the first prize with those petunias,” the sensible dwarf encouraged, breaking her thoughts, squeezing her shoulder softly. She sighed, pushing discouragement aside. She closed the door, the snow resting on the floor already making a puddle.

 

“I better get this,” she mumbled disheartened, Bofur’s hand stopped her.

 

“Today I doubt even we’ll be able to leave. Why don’t you change out of those wet clothes and I fix this?” he offered kindly. Her hosting instincts forgotten, she agreed with a nod. When the rest of the dwarves woke, it was clear that there would be no work for them today either. Kíli actually was in a cheerier mood than the night before. Nori just shrugged and offered to help in the kitchen, while Fíli seemed to be the only one annoyed by the delay they would suffer. He settled in a corner, a scowl marring his features, his hands busy with something hidden from her eyes. She kept her own sour mood to herself, or so she thought, because not two hours after breakfast the dwarves suggested helping shovel the snow away so she would have a safe path to the greenhouse. She had assured them it could wait, but she had been too pleased by the possibility to protest further.

 

Her young nephew had been enthusiastic about going outside to play with the snow, which she had forbidden. He had pouted and even summoned tears to convince her, both weapons failing as Rose would not risk him getting hurt in the unpredictable weather. Frodo was relatively calm for the rest of the day, only managing to break one of her own precious books and tearing the string of Fíli’s harp. In comparison to the day he had managed to break half of Drogo’s and Primula’s wedding tea set, a book and a cord were nothing. A stern scolding did little to the fauntling as he pouted and squirmed free in a few seconds.  She had sighed in frustration, feeling once again out of her element when it came to raising her nephew.

 

“I shouldn’t have left it around,” Fíli conceded, trying to ease the frown on her face, as he took the old looking instrument in his hands, examining the damage closely.

 

“I can fix it, if you want,” she offered, familiar to both the instrument and Frodo’s ways of destruction. Fíli nodded. Someone would have to teach her soon how to tame the little wildling or she would be forced to remain out of society for society’s sake. She opened one of the tall cupboards where she had unceremoniously left most of her instruments – the ones that were small enough to fit – along with extra string and the little utensils she used for their maintenance.

 

“She didn’t exaggerate,” Fíli’s voice full with awe came from behind her, the distance between them barely enough to be modest. “You do have lots of playthings!” His larger hand leaned and grabbed one of her older violin boxes, the oldest being hidden in her own room, the only thing she had that belonged to the father she had never met. She was quick to take it from his hands, fingers trembling, her heart beating rapidly, bringing it back to its cluttered place. His eyes turned apologetic at her actions. “I’m sorry, I didn’t want to intrude”. Yet his voice was too curious for the apology to be completely felt.

 

“No need, I don’t like people touching them,” she muttered aloof, her mind far away. She hadn’t really felt the mood, the will or the want for playing anything for a long time – the dust over the violin box was evidence of that - , from the moment Bilba had gone missing, only doing so at Prim or Drogo’s petition or a small nurse song for Frodo the few times all else failed to make him sleep. The recent events had only exacerbated her sudden apathy. The changes in her life had served as an excuse for the public from her remission in the social events, where before she had always been ready to perform and teach the little ones, when they would trail after her. Fíli withdrew any comment as he handed her his own instrument, a tentative smile on his lips.

 

“Uncle is like that with his own,” Fíli commented clearly not offended by her discomfort, breaking the tension that settled on her shoulders. “He made me this when I was little so I wouldn’t take his and I haven’t had the heart to replace it with another”. She took the small harp with secure hands before sitting by the hearth with her small tin box of utensils by her side. It was most definitively small and proper for a child and maybe an adult with very deft and thin fingers. Usually the harp, even those fit for travel would be bigger than this one, and she would have assumed that Fíli’s fingers were too thick for the small harp to be played well under his ministrations. Yet hadn’t those apparently coarse limbs touched her with a delicacy she would have never guessed? She would refuse to submit judgment until she witnessed his talent. “Thorin taught me after _adad_ passed away.” His voice was full with nostalgia and she felt herself attune to his mood. Music had always been about relations for her, first for the father that hadn’t raised her, to the grandfather who did, to the sister who taught her, to the cousin who took her to every lesson available and taught her the most uncouth of songs, to the hobbit who crashed her infatuated heart with drunken remarks.

 

“What about Kíli?” She asked while her eyes were still set on searching the pertinent utensils for the repair. She noted she would need to oil some for they were hard under her touch after many months without use.

 

“Kíli was too little and he has never much cared for it,” Fíli continued, his soft voice still strong enough to envelope her with the smoothness of his baritone. “Maybe one day you can sing for me, Bilba said over and over again you had the sweetest of voices and the deftest of hands. She said even uncle would pale in comparison, which I must say would be very impressive”. The exaggerated praise made a fierce blush rise to the apple of her cheeks, her eyes refusing to meet his in case she would be captured and no ransom would save her from its force.

 

“I hardly doubt it,” Rose dismissed gently nonchalant. “Grandfather gave me the one you took, he carved it for me,” she murmured, changing subjects ever so slightly, as her eyes resumed their full focus on the task ahead. She measured the broken strain and the empty space, her fingers sorting the different threads she had pulled until she found the best match. “The color won’t match, but I’ll assure you the sound will. Unless you want me to dye it?” Her questioning gaze stopped in his azure one, he grinned, obviously pleased but shook his head.

 

“A different thread is just what I need,” he assured, his grin not faltering, warmth spreading through her chest. He was like a summer sun, bringing light to her weathered heart with something as simple as a smile. Once again she had to force herself to stop the silly poetic notions that spread wildly in her head when he gave her even the barest hint of a smile. 

 

“Won’t your uncle find offense in my meddling of his little master piece?” She wondered, slightly teasing, making his grin widen considerably and for the braids on his mustache to tremble as he suppressed a chuckle.

 

“Not if the sound is the same.” The confidence was reassuring, making her smile as she unscrewed the pieces apart, taking the severed cord away. It was a beautiful piece, love evident in the details. There were inscriptions she couldn’t read, surrounded with thin carvings that formed an intricate geometric decoration. The cords were of a good quality golden metal – like material, which was rare to find.

 

“Then I must be especially attentive”. She smiled as he helped her by passing her whatever she needed. He examined some of her tools, probably noticing the lack of oil and some of the indents on the handles. “Maybe you can teach me how to keep them in better state”. She added as she clipped the replacing silver cord she planned on using. He nodded, his eyes still fixed on her hands. His hands covered hers when he noticed she needed his hold to settle the last of the small pieces and the both shared a blush when they remembered the last time they had been this close by a hearth only the two of them.

 

The afternoon came soon enough, the meals passing in relative calmness. Since Kíli and Nori had managed to uncover the path to the greenhouse, she knew that the minute Frodo fell into his afternoon nap, she would at least be able to start helping with the gathering of seeds, to start drying the leaves the dwarves would need for their pipes and maybe to start collecting the last batch of her pink roses to settle around the house. Bofur had offered his help early in the day, curiosity in her ways evident.

 

With Frodo finally asleep, she took her thickest coat for the short road. Fíli was already at the back door waiting for her. “I come to offer my service, my fair lady!” He announced with a teasing flourish, offering a warm arm she took greedily.

 

Rose gave him the responsibility of the seeds she had already collected the previous days, asking him to order them. He grew bored easily and walked over to where she was. She was plucking the small rose blooms carefully with her gardening scissors. They would look pretty for few days and she would be able to dry them and maybe make a tea with what was left. She felt the heat of Fíli behind her, his face coming to the side of her neck, his breath and long beard tickling the naked skin of her neck. “You have to mind the thorns and the angle in which you cut the end,” she murmured, trying to ignore his overwhelming presence. His arms surrounded her body, dismissing any illusion of private space, until his hands took the bloom from her hands and cut the end the way she had explained.

 

“Like this?” He whispered huskily, his mouth dangerously less than an inch from one of her extremely sensitive ear. She nodded, any articulate form of speech far from her abilities. A shiver moved deliciously through her back when she felt the warmth of his chest leaning and meeting her spine. He hummed lowly, the vibration from his chest well – felt through the fabrics of their clothes. Nervousness settled deep within her. She took back the gardening tool and the bloom from his hands, leaving them at the working table before turning and coughing uncomfortably – a habit she knew came from Bilba when she too was nervous -.

 

“I- I think it’s enough for today,” she said, avoiding his blazing half lidded blue eyes. Her cheeks were irreparably flushed. Rose tried pushing him away gently, her hands looking impossibly small on his broad chest. He did not move an inch and her hands, instead of pushing him, stayed there pressed against his solid chest. He had her caged well between his body and the work table, his hands moving to settle at her hips. Rose made the mistake to meet his eyes, foolishly intending for a second to scold him away. Before his eyes, she felt like a doe facing a wild mountain cat, ready to be eaten. She feared her eyes would be too akin to his lust. Her body trembled under his heated gaze, flushing deeply. He pulled her closer to him, his face leaning in. Her eyes closed independently from any sign her brain had sent, as she felt his larger nose press against hers, his lips but a breath away. She thought he had abandoned his quest when she felt him moving away from her mouth, leaving the ghost of a chaste kiss on her lips. Soon, his lips found bigger entertainment in her pulse. He didn’t kiss, bite or lick, like she expected him, or better yet like she craved for him to do. His lips were just barely there, touching, caressing too softly to be anything but a simple touch. Her hands had settled onto his torso, clenching to the fur of his coat. She felt his warm breath, joining his lips in the exploration, brief nuzzles from his nose and beard, heating and cooling the exposed skin of her neck, sending all sorts of messages to her brain.

 

“Primrose,” he purred, his lips caressing her ears, his nose buried in the thick dark curls of her hair, making adrenaline invade her veins and her lower regions warm considerably. Her name had never been so reverently said. “Will you taste as good as you smell?” He whispered so low she would later wonder if she had imagined it. Oh and how she wanted to be tasted! It was a miracle she was still standing, though she suspected the broad hands on her hips had something to do with it. His nose trailed up her neck, his lips touching some spots placing ghost kisses, gone before she could truly enjoy them, frustration vividly settling on her skin, whimpers leaving her mouth without her knowledge. The beads from his braids would touch her gently, leaving a cool metallic trail behind them, leaving goose bumps. He continued his exploration with the side of her jaw, his whiskers waking every pore of her skin, his lips slowly making their way back to hers. She probably had stopped breathing minutes ago – her lungs made no sign of going back to work any time soon –. Her heart was carrying a wild symphony of sounds, which he probably noticed when he stayed those torturous seconds at her pulse. His lips finally – _finally!_ – reached her own, stopping all together before immersing into a devastatingly gentle kiss.

 

His long nose nuzzled her smaller one, bringing their lips in contact, barely. Until she leaned forward, capturing him and his lips within her own, hands pulling him close. They caressed chastely – or as chaste as it was possible, since she would need a very cold bath before going to bed, and his touch barely surpassed the limits of propriety -. His lips molded into hers, slowly treating each caress as a precious and delicate moment. The movement was far from rash, it was slow and methodic. She felt herself grow a bit restless under such tenderness. He broke the kiss, staying close to her, keeping her warm within his hold. She was still trapped against her working table, both strong arms holding her together, panting ever so slightly. His lips did not remain idle for long, returning to stroke the skin of her jaw, pressing kisses that felt heavier than before. She felt silly and inexperienced under his touch, never had been submitted to such tenderness. Rose was used to swiftness and some degree of boldness, which went accordingly to nightly escapades and stolen minutes behind the barn during parties and feasts. This was torture and pleasure all wrapped up in one. It was far from what she expected from her flirtatious guest. She had expected to be taken completely a bit savagely, leaving bruises in his wake, broken items on the floor and maybe torn clothes. Anything but this. This was truly the pleasure of the unknown, the unexpected and the unexperienced. A loud forced cough stopped her from finding out whether she had the courage to demand more from the blonde dwarf, cold setting on her veins. Fíli reacted first, turning his head just a little, dropping a frustrated sigh, forgetting – or refusing – to release her. If her cheeks hadn’t already been tomato red, now they would remain forever so. Bofur stood at the doorway, his eyes narrowed on Fíli, not a hint of surprise in his bearded face. She wanted to drown within the fur of Fíli’s coat to never be found again.

 

“Yes?” the blonde dwarf in front of her questioned annoyed, if a bit petulant,  forbidding her from moving with his much larger frame, his hands still grabbing her possessively.

 

“I’m here to help,” Bofur said, eyes still narrowed, and a bit of defiance could also be found within them from what she could see behind the broad chest of Fíli. The hatted dwarf took several steps inside of the greenhouse, making clear whatever had been happening minutes ago was over and would not be continued in the near future. “Miss Rose requested my help”.

 

“She won’t mind you come back later, Bofur. She’s busy,” Fíli drawled, his arms clenching when he felt her attempt to escape. Rose on her part was completely mortified by being caught with her hands on the proverbial cookie dough. In spite of the clear desire in her under belly, this situation was far from ideal and she would have much preferred to analyze the situation well away from the scrutinizing eyes of the company – because if she had learned something from them the past few days, was that they had no subtlety and were worse gossipers than widows in a market - . Also, she was not going to add subject for further discussion between them. Bofur would not be leaving because they wanted time alone. No sir. Whatever they did on their few casual moments alone was one thing but she would not have Fíli dismissing people on her behalf, especially for a snogging session. She was still a hobbit, a Brandybuck and a Took nonetheless, always a hobbit with certain amount of decorum to uphold.

 

“She will mind, you big oaf!” Rose yelped, stepping on one of his feet and at the same time she pushing him off with more strength than before. Her strength probably did little to help her, since he would have barely moved if not for the surprise of her improvised attack. He stumbled, giving her enough time to escape and put the working table between them. Bofur then walked towards Rose, an ample grin on his face, mocking Fíli with a salute. The blonde dwarf was glaring at the source of interruption heatedly after recovering his steps. 

 

“Where will you have me Miss Rose?” Bofur questioned as if nothing had happened, which she appreciated. Wiggling of eyebrows or lewd remarks would not help her to remain calm in this situation, thank you very much.

 

“Fíli was helping with the plucking of the roses,” she began, taking back her favorite pair of scissors and offering another pair to the blonde dwarf in return, without feeling brave enough to meet his face.

 

“Oh yes, the lad seems to be very kin on plucking roses,” Bofur muttered loud enough, making Rose lose whatever control she had over her previous embarrassment, flushing once again. Fíli roughly offered the hatted dwarf a few words in their shared language, the mixture of a growl and a hiss. She coughed compulsively, brushing away her hair while her eyes planned an escape route. 

 

“I was about to begin treating the leaves needed to mimic the pipe weed you brought, if you would be so kind to help me prepare them for drying?” Her words did nothing to break either the heated glares from Fíli or the mocking grin from Bofur. So she did what she was used to do when she felt uncomfortable. Rose fled from the scene. She slipped from their presence, going to the small cupboard where she saved most of her things.  She took some minutes to gain back her tranquility, brushing her hair away and touching her cheeks to check if the heat had lowered. When it did, she went back to work.

 

“… part of no shitting where you eat, didn’t your uncle explain?” She caught from Bofur’s soft hissing. She stopped at the doorway waiting for silence to settle once again. Few words in the gruff manner of their shared language were exchanged as they noticed her presence. She refused to be affected, though her belly disagreed loudly, as she focused on her work.

 

Dinner was an awkward affair, in which Rose refused to meet any stares unless she had to help Frodo with his food. The dwarves were unbecomingly silent, a few whispers she couldn’t catch the only things that broke the silence. Not even Kíli made any queer remarks or Bofur any dry comments. The latter and Nori had meddled between her and crown prince, taking the seats to her sides. The left one had been usually occupied with the focus of the glares from the elder of the small company. 

 

When there was a knock on the door, Rose had to stop herself from leaping away from the uncomfortable ambiance. Rose opened the door, noticing Nori had followed her like a silent guard. There was a small hobbit, she didn’t recognize but his brown garb identified him as a messenger. It was too late for him to be traveling.

 

“Yes?” she asked, dread spreading through her blood. The last time a messenger had come at an ungodly hour, it hadn’t been good news. Hadn’t Bilba said nothing good ever came from opening one’s door during dinner?

 

“Miss Primrose Brandybuck of Bag End?” The messenger questioned, arranging the bag across his shoulders in search of the missive.

 

“Yes, I’m Primrose,” she murmured, her eyes fixed on his hands.

 

“The Lady Bilba of the Lonely Mountain asked me to give you this”. He handed her a small letter, her heart finally returning to its normal pace. Urgent messages usually weren’t sealed in wax. She offered him drink and food, which he surprisingly declined. Nori approached then, handing him some pieces of coins which the hobbit took gladly, tipping a nonexistent hat. As she closed the door, she noted the rest of the company – Bofur carrying young Frodo on his arms – had come to quench their curiosity.

 

“Letter from Bilba,” she murmured as she broke the wax seal keeping it closed.

 

_‘Sweet Rose,_

_Excuse my late announcement but the weather has made it impossible for our feathered allies to deliver any message in the past few weeks. I am currently a day away from Hobbiton, having traveled with a bigger convoy that had been on its way to the Blue Mountains. We will probably arrive late in the afternoon. I do not wish to impose with such late notice, we are but four yet I understand your other guests might be having you on the loop. Worry not, sweet cousin!_

_Love,_

_Bilba_

 “She’s coming home,” a smile soon spread onto her face, but she noticed the rest didn’t share her enthusiasm.

 

“Did she say why?” Nori asked frowning. “She wasn’t supposed to leave the mountain, much less for a trip as long as this one.” Bofur’s smile was missing, a deep frown on his bushy brows. She handed them the letter, baffled by their lack of positive reaction. Rose hadn’t even got angry when Bilba initially had said she couldn’t come before the wedding, understanding her responsibilities now lay elsewhere and included a royal duty that Rose would know nothing about.

 

The dwarves read the letter and muttered between themselves. She took Frodo away from them, returning to the dining room to finish her meal, savoring the sweet news on her own. She managed to hear a groan from Kíli that sounded like a ‘Bilba’s going to kill me!’ When she finished, they were still in the foyer, frowns covering their hairy complexions, even Kíli who was the merriest of the bunch. She didn’t even bother in remembering they still had their food at the table.  A bath later, Frodo had easily gone to sleep and she started making lists in her head to prepare for the newcomers. Rose opened Bilba’s room and stared at it for some minutes before daring to head inside. Drogo and Prim had tried keeping at least Bilba’s room intact, always clinging to the hope that she would be back sooner rather than later. Only some boxes had found their way into the dusty room, containing the many trinkets they tried keeping away from Frodo’s sticky fingers. She took away the linens, raising a dense cloud of dust. She coughed repeatedly, the dust settling deep within her lungs. Now she would need another bath before heading to bed. As she headed to the laundry, she noticed the dwarves had resumed their cold meal, grunts and rough words exchanged. She passed by them, a tune escaping her merry heart. Even if they didn’t agree with her cousin’s arrival, Rose would not let them dampen her mood.

 

In little less than an hour, she had already washed the linens – Bilba’s favorites, so it would be worth the late wash and drying them by the hearth -, she had swept away most of the dust. Tomorrow she would finish cleaning the rest, already leaving most of the clothes on the hanger for them to air, and some to the laundry to take away the musty scent. She had already placed small, newly prepared silken bags of dried flowers that would give the drawers a pleasant smell. 

 

There was only another room that the other guests could use. Rose checked the state, deciding tomorrow it would also need a light dusting off.

 

“Miss Rose?” Bofur’s voice called from the hall, she called him in and he helped himself inside. “Do you need any help?”

 

“Tomorrow,” she replied with a tired sigh. “We’ll need to go to the market, in spite of the snow, pray to the Green Lady and your Stone Lord to stop it from falling further tonight.”

 

“Are there enough rooms, or should we look for –“

 

“Oh no! This smial was meant for a larger family than it has ever held,” she murmured, touching with wistfulness the little carvings on the bed board, made by Bilba’s father. “I think two more can fit here, Bilba has her room and the last one can use Frodo’s room if I move him to my own room.”

 

“ _Tomorrow,_ we’ll help with the logistics,” Bofur assured, his hand finding its place on her shoulder as he pushed her out to the hall. She went with him to the dining room, finding that they had indeed finished eating, cleaning and putting everything back to their place. 

 

“We thought we could taste the pipeweed, lass,” Nori suggested, bringing forward the only sample she had been able to finish with the already dried leaves she kept from previous batches. In a week or two they would get the rest. Fíli once again handed her his own pipe before bringing out a spare for him, a comely smile on his lips. She sat beside him, ignoring Bofur who offered another seat far away from the crown prince. The hatted dwarf huffed and she managed to catch Nori rolling his eyes as a victory grin curled the blonde dwarf’s mouth. Kíli dropped at her other side, taking the pipe on her hands and preparing it for her. She thanked him when he handed it back.

 

“Why weren’t you happy she’s coming back?” She asked when they had all settled and smoke rings had begun filling the living room.

 

“We thought Uncle and her might have – “ Kíli began but interrupted himself for lack of proper wording. One of her eyebrows rose with curiosity. “We thought she might have gotten into a lovers quarrel with Uncle, since he had asked her to stay and she had agreed”.

 

“Oh,” she mumbled unintelligibly.

 

“Nothing to worry about, we’re sure,” Bofur continued but she noted the shared stares with a hidden meaning. It took them little time to finish her small sample. She noted some changes she would need to do to mimic better what they had brought from Erebor. Nori and Kíli were the first to leave for bed, the latter dragging his feet tiredly. Bofur had made the gesture to stand with the others but as he noticed Fíli and she would remain alone, he dropped back into his seat. She felt embarrassed by the implication, a faint blush on her cheeks. She stood to leave, both dwarves standing immediately after.

 

“Bofur,” Fíli hissed as the hatted dwarf made no move to leave. The dwarf in question just raised his bushy eyebrows high up his front, a courageous look on his brownish eyes for Fíli. She didn’t feel bold enough to dismiss her willing protector, even if a shiver traveled down her spine just thinking about a couple of minutes with Fíli and his furnace - like hands. 

 

The next day, she woke long before the sun even rose, excitement running and scattering on her like the fiercest of summer winds. She didn’t wait for the dwarves to wake, already starting her preparations as soundlessly as she could. She gave the biggest sweep to Bilba’s and the guest room, placing the well – cut pink roses she and Fíli had worked on the day before, with some lavender for fragrance. Rose even selected few of Bilba’s most beloved books placing them over her night table. When Frodo woke, she would ask for the dwarves to move his necessities to her room and then she would make sure the room was ready for whoever needed it. Hours later, with the sun barely rising she heard the dwarves in the kitchen, probably setting up their breakfast, her belly rumbling loudly at the reminder that she had only drank tea and eaten a little fruit when she woke. With the help of the dwarves, everything was ready before midday, even storing the pantry.

 

After luncheon, they had all settled in the living room. Frequent yawns escaped Rose, contagious to all and she knew waking as early as she had would force her to nap with Frodo in the afternoon if she expected to be awake when Bilba came. She cuddled into her armchair, putting her furry feet under her while fixing the thick blanket over. Frodo had taken to play with the many figurines Nori and Bofur had gifted him, a small army of dwarves and hobbits that some even reminded them of her guests. She remembered for the umpteenth time that she needed to cut his hair for he could barely see with his many wild dark and too long curls flying around.

 

Rose didn’t notice her eyes had closed until a loud knock on the door woke her. Everyone looked the same than the last time she had seen them, so much time shouldn’t have passed. The dwarves made hint as if to move but she was quick and beat them to it. She untangled from the blanket, hurrying to the door in hopes of her cousin already arriving, well before the time she had set. Rose wouldn’t care. She opened the door, a bright smile making its way on her face until she met the familiar face of Lobelia and the smallest of her children.

 

“I see you came back well,” Lobelia muttered dryly as greeting. For a second, Rose was unfamiliar with what to do. Lobelia hardly ever knocked on her door, always happy to barge in uninvited. Then Rose remembered her back door – the uppity hobbit’s favorite way of entrance – was probably a difficult entrance since some snow might have fallen the night before. “Do we have to stand here for long before you invite us inside?” With a sheepish smile Rose stepped back to let them in, holding out her arms for the coats, scarves and hats they carried.

 

“I’m sorry Lobelia, it’s been so long since you needed a proper invitation to come inside,” the sarcastic tone in her voice was slight enough not to grant a snapping remark from her older friend, who just gave her a glare and continued her way to the living room. Lobelia’s daughter gave her a sheepish shrug before giving her a kiss on the cheek and trailing after her mother. 

 

“I see you are still here,” the newcomer greeted the dwarves dryly. “I suppose the Thain wasn’t as agreeable as you expected for your shenanigans”. Her youngest daughter Lollie was behind her, eyes attached to her feet, her hands occupied with a seemingly heavy basket full of food.

 

“Lobelia, please don’t start.” Rose could already feel the tension growing in the room. She had expected after the last of their meetings, Bilba’s cousin would be civil to the dwarves.

 

“The Thain has given us leave to stay with Miss Brandybuck until we settle the arrangement, Mrs. Sackville,” Fíli stated with contempt, blue eyes narrowed.

 

“Mrs. Sackville – _Baggins_ if you please,” Lobelia corrected, annoyed, standing straighter.  “That means you’re prolonging your stay even more?” In Lobelia’s defense this time at least she tried not to sound so condescending.

 

“Yes, especially now that Lady Bilba is coming and we’ll continue our way with her as her escorts,” Bofur explained further, being the one that usually got the most diplomatic responses from the irate female. It was almost a non-said consensus for him to deal directly when things went south, and they often did when Lobelia was involved. Bilba’s cousin had stood frozen at the news, her fine eyebrows jumping high before her eyes searched for the truth with Rose.

 

“She’s coming back?” Lobelia echoed, uncertainty in her voice as if the words Bofur spoke had not been clear enough. Her own hands had tightened its hold on the basket she had within her arms, until the knuckles turned white. The dwarves probably thought fear and maybe a bit of annoyance was settling in Lobelia’s heart, but Rose knew as well as she knew herself the conflicting emotions. She hadn’t lied to the dwarves when she said that it had been Lobelia who had went to Bree in search for Bilba when a week had passed and her blonde cousin failed to return. Yes, she had snapped and growled about the silly notion of adventure the daughter of Belladonna Took had, wondering where the Baggins decorum had gone to. Lobelia had cursed the Took – ish blood within her cousin many times in front of the Brandybuck sisters, which had gained her many glares from Prim – who was too proper to be either Took or Brandybuck and would not dare to raise a hand – and few hair pulls from Rose herself – who was used to dirty tricks from playing with her own relations - .

 

It was only after this improvised trip that Rose finally understood that behind the complaints and critiques, Lobelia was as worried for Bilba as Prim and her were. When they had been little and Prim hadn’t been born, Bilba and Lobelia had been attached at the hip. Only after the adventure fever had left Lobelia when adulthood and marriage claimed her and Bilba refused to join her in the new stage of courting and planning parties, did both hobbit lasses depart in more than unfriendly terms. They were both similar, stubborn and fiery, so it was very common to see them loudly discussing everything from the color of Bilba’s door – too ghastly and unworthy in comparison to the royal blue of the Sackville – Baggins, according to Lobelia – to the results on the election of the best pastries for the Rose Ball – Lobelia’s had most definitively been too dry to win even third place, according to Bilba -. Most hobbits tried to avoid been caught in the middle, for both females tended to force the unfortunate spectators to take sides. Nonetheless, Rose had been there when Lobelia had declared with angry tears streaming down her cheeks that they had no news of Bilba in Bree and there were no other clues as to where they could find her, defeat clear in her blue eyes. Prim had taken her elder in her arms, as close as her protruding belly permitted and they had both stayed that way for the longest of time. Lobelia loved Bilba dearly no matter how far apart and different they had become, even if her ways of showing were unconventional.

 

“Yes, she’s coming back,” Rose confirmed, feeling lighter from the knowledge alone. Lobelia’s eyes suddenly turned suspiciously red and in a second she had taken Lollie’s basket in her free arm and excused herself quickly. Her daughter blushed profusely when the dwarves finally took notice of her, in the absence of her mother. “Lollie dearest, would you mind caring for Frodo for a second while I help your mother in the kitchen?” She asked politely at the tween but awaited no response as she left, following the steps of the upset hobbit.

 

Lobelia had done nothing but stand by the breakfast table, leaving the baskets over the nearest chair. When Rose finally reached her side, Lobelia straightened her hunched posture, yet the tears in her face would not yield as easily. Rose knew the pride within her, so she didn’t say anything that would make Lobelia snap in retaliation for noticing out loud her weakened state. She took the baskets and started sorting the many things Bilba’s cousin had cooked for them. When she noticed the garlic bread, she couldn’t help but to believe it would be the best metaphor to understand the crying hobbit by her breakfast table. Lobelia knew Frodo wouldn’t eat it and Rose never favored it, but she had noticed how the dwarves had eaten the few she had brought the last time she was at Bag End, praising its flavor and even daring to fight for the last of the rolls. No matter how many complains had been voiced since Lobelia discovered the dwarves in her kitchen, little details like this made it difficult not to feel certain empathy for the mostly uppity hobbit.

 

“Do you know when she’s coming?” Lobelia asked behind her, when Rose had started to warm a pot of tea. Without touching her, the elder of the two took Rose’s place in front of the tea pot, clearly stating she would be in charge of the steaming water. Resigned, Rose took out enough cups for the company, Lollie, and the both of them. She took some of the treats Lobelia had brought, placing them in a nice tray.

 

“She sent a message yesterday from Bree, she could be arriving later today”. Lobelia nodded at the information, taking a handkerchief and discretely drying her clear blue eyes from the tears that had now stopped. If you looked closely, her lower lip still trembled and a sniff could be heard from time to time.

 

“Well, I hope after two years, adventures will be over and her more sensible side will come forward finally,” Lobelia stated as she helped Rose bringing the food and leaving her with the heavy the tea tray to take to the living room.

 

Fíli rose quickly when he saw her coming with the heavy tray, taking it from her arms with a grin and a quick wink which gave her a faint blush on her cheeks as she thanked him.  “Oh Lollie! You’re staining the dress with soot!” Lobelia cried. The youngling was in fact too close to the hearth with Frodo, her pretty blue dress already carrying stains. “Rose dear, you shouldn’t let young Frodo being so unruly. It’s most unbecoming of him and you for him to always be wearing dirty clothes”. Rose sighed, refusing to comment, focusing on the tears that had been previously but now were dried on Lobelia’s cheeks. As the elder of the hobbits left in search for something in the kitchen, Rose took her small nephew, caring not to dirty up her own skirts – not that she cared much but Lobelia wouldn’t forget to make a comment -.

 

“Oh yes! What am I ever going to do with you?” Rose asked teasingly as her fingers tickled the weak points of Frodo’s belly. Giggles erupted from his lips, his eyes widened when he noticed something behind her. She heard Fíli’s chuckle as he stood behind her, looking over her shoulder while keeping enough distance not to make Lobelia drop another remark if she came back.

 

“I believe I still have to collect some punishment from my fallen harp string,” he murmured goodheartedly, playfulness in his tone. “I believe darling Primrose, you may lead me in my attack”. Frodo clenched his little fists on the front of her dress giggling while he tried to escape from Fíli as he took Frodo with his large fingers. “Where shall I begin?” He mused, sharing a knowing look with his younger brother, who grinned widely.

 

“Oh! Tickle his ears!” Lollie suddenly jumped excitedly near, forgetting to finish rubbing away the soot at the seam. At the statement Rose felt herself blush furiously, she was about to stop the youngling before her mother came, when the hobbit in question did.

 

“ _Lollianna!”_ Her shriek echoed like a whip as Lollie spun and cowered near Rose’s skirts. Both knowing it would do no good. “How terribly and totally _improper_! Tickling ears, you should know better than that it was probably that Berilac –“

 

“Lobelia, Berry is just a little-“ Rose tried to defend one of her many Brandybuck cousins, an usual playmate of Lollie’s that Lobelia failed to approve of.

 

“We are leaving! And don’t make that face _Lolliana_ , you are not getting desert for a week at the very least!” Lobelia grabbed Lollie quickly by the wrist before nodding in Rose’s direction and heading to the door. “Just wait until your father hears about this!” And the door slammed behind them.

 

“Miss Rose?” Kíli broke the silence.  She turned sheepishly to face them, cheeks still bright, knowing an awkward explanation would be ahead.

 

“Lass, care to bring us up to speed?” Nori asked from his spot in her armchair, his eyebrow raised making half of the braids in his head move to a side. She tried to explain but thoughts about a certain blonde dwarf, who was too close and could easily see her embarrassment, kept clouding her thoughts.

 

“Is it like dancing many pieces?” Bofur helped when no words came from her and she nodded furiously, fighting the instinct of glancing in Fíli’s direction. “No dancing more than a piece and no ear tickling”. She heard a thump and Fíli whined immediately.

 

“I should change Frodo, for when Bilba arrives,” the excuse fell easily from her lips and she recovered her nephew and escaped the room.

 

It was indeed late afternoon when Bilba arrived. Primrose heard the knock even though she had been sitting next to her very loud nephew as he fought with Fíli for Lobelia’s pastries, careful not to ruin his freshly changed clothes. After awkwardness had faded, they had resumed their lazy activities from before Lobelia and Lollie arrived. Fíli testing his harp – later improvised fighting with Frodo -, Nori carving yet another wooden figure for Frodo – a hobbit if the furry feet could be counted as a clue -, Bofur with her nephew in his lap telling Frodo about three angry and scary trolls they vanquished and finally Kíli lying on his back as the light strumming from his Fíli lulled him into a nap. At the knock, she practically jumped and ran to the door, much like a fauntling. After reaching the door and opening, her cousin greeted her at the other side. Bilba barely had time to say anything, for Rose pounced and took her captive in a fierce hug, eyes filling too rapidly with tears.

 

“My darling Rose!” Bilba whispered in her ear as she brushed her curls and hugged her close. Rose tried to say anything but when her mouth opened only a heart breaking sob could be heard. She shut her eyes tightly, making tears drop quickly through her cheeks, not caring for the dwarves that still stood at the door; eyes widened and even hands on their hilts in case her hug attack turned into a perilous affair. Yet, when her guests came out to meet the commotion, she forced herself to control her feelings and break hold of her cousin. Bilba tenderly brushed away the tears from Rose’s cheeks, twin droplets mirrored in her own cheeks. They shared a watery laugh, pushing off the nostalgia from their battered hearts. Their reunion was cut short when the dwarves pushed themselves into the greetings, their excitement evident.

 

“Auntie!” Kíli greeted with joy. “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes in the middle of this improvised winter!” He took hold of her smaller frame, pulling her close and lifting her from the ground while his twinkling laughter filled the room.  Rose brushed away the rest of her tears, as she bore witness to the warm welcome her cousin received. She had known they respected and cared for Bilba, but she hadn’t dared to imagine they would appear to love her as much as she did, like family did. A little form, slipped past the dwarves without their notice, their attention too focused on the newcomers, and went to stop by her skirts. She remembered Frodo, as he pulled her skirts for attention, feeling guilty for her forgetfulness. She took him in her arms, planting kisses on his chubby cheeks. The little one was obviously confused by the new faces. He didn’t hide as he usually did with newcomers, but she could see the tension in his small frame. She hummed a song too softly for the others to hear, and he slowly cuddled into her arms, arms around her neck.

 

It was apparent that two of the dwarves were not known by the others, for they didn’t even receive much as a glance for greeting. She had even noticed Nori openly glaring at them, but Bilba quickly called his attention in a hug of his own. These dwarves matched better some version of the descriptions in books. Tall, shoulders too broad and a body completely covered in full armor, they made an intimidating if intriguing sight. They stood in the back of the reunion, their eyes not leaving Bilba’s form as if she could be swept away in a second, twin scolds in their faces. They were missing one dwarf if Bilba had told true when she announced they would be four.

 

“Master dwarves,” she called politely walking to the strangers, blocking the entrance. “Would you mind closing the door so the cold may not get inside?” After a week with her dwarves, she had come to expect certain gruffness she had assumed was characteristic, a bit generically of their race. She had come to accept that they did in fact have manners and could be very polite. They just chose when to be so. Primrose had not expected to receive a hateful sneer from one of the heavily armed dwarves. Frodo, who had been studying the new subjects from her arms, was soon to whimper in fear, his fingers clawing into her skin. Fíli, probably because of Frodo’s characteristic whimper, stepped forward to their aid, pushing her slightly back to his brother who was quick to place both of his hands on her shoulders after ruffling Frodo’s head. The guard clenched his jaw in anger; his partner didn’t look as pleased. They bowed their heads the necessary amount for it to be proper and not an inch more.

 

“Krakish!” A loud imposing voice called from outside. If she had thought the twin like guards to be intimidating, she truly felt fear in her heart for the last dwarf who joined them in the foyer. Taller than most, broader than all, the bald headed dwarf glared down at the guards, who stepped back and bowed their heads in submission. The last acquaintance carried several tattoos in very visible places, even his scalp carried angry ink printed marks, followed by a thick mane of hair that covered only the sides of his head that joined his bushy bluish beard, little adornments in it. The pelt he carried over his shoulders made him look bearish and certainly wild. He closed the door gently, turning with a little bow for Fíli. “Princeling!” he greeted flatly, pulling the blonde haired dwarf into his arms, the enthusiasm shared by Fíli, who clapped him on the back with vigor as he barked in laughter. Without the deadly glare on his face, the new dwarf still remained threatening looking. She remained observing the now subdued guards, noticing the glare Bilba was sending their way. “Little miss, I apologize for their disrespect,” the fearful warrior said bowing before her, a smile hidden under his beard. “Dwalin, son of Fundin, at your service!”

 

“Primrose Brandybuck, at yours,” she managed to stutter as she tightened her hold on Frodo, whose face was now hidden in her dark mane.

 

“Why are they here?” Fíli asked soon after introductions were made, glaring at the guards.

 

“Dain believed her grace might benefit from his royal guards,” Dwalin offered flatly, sending a glare in the guards’ directions. “Bunch of bollocks if you ask me!”

 

“Dwalin!” Bilba chastised with a tsk of her tongue. Her eyes found the precious package in Primrose’s arms, making a beeline to her cousin. “So this is the little one!” She cooed, walking quickly to her cousin’s side. She brushed her knuckles to Frodo’s round cheeks, gaining a giggle from the toddler. “I’m cousin Bilba, darling boy!”

 

“Auntie Bilba!” Primrose corrected, giving her nephew a kiss on the cheek before handing him to the awaiting hobbit. Bilba’s demeanor changed completely when she carried Frodo. Her eyes seemed brighter, she no longer seemed tired as she swayed with the fauntling, humming a tune Rose knew from long ago with a smile that could light up the darkest of caves. The dwarves shared pleased smiles and she found herself smiling with them. A warm hand found hers; giving her a short squeeze before dropping it again in case Bofur was still on watch.

 

“Now, Bilba, I believe you promised a feast!” Dwalin exclaimed, taking the fauntling from her arms. Frodo froze at first at being held by such frightening character but the booming laughter coming from the new acquaintance must have given the little one some reassurance.

 

“Oh Mister Dwalin! We can play throw the hobbit again!” Kíli quipped from his corner, hands up in the air. They managed to throw the small hobbit once before Bilba and Rose shrieked and made a grab for the giggling infant. Dwalin took Kíli beneath his elbow, ruffling his long hair as Kíli usually did with Frodo, still laughing.

 

“Don’t you dare Kíli!” Bilba chastised, fuming as she hovered over the clearly unharmed hobbit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! I believe it could be said it's compensated by the length of the chapter (9200 words!!). Life is getting hectic, I'm trying to keep my 1000 words a day objective though (the thing is that I not always write in the next chapter but I often find myself skipping ahead). 
> 
> Next chap will be Bilba's but I am open to suggestions to which POV you'd like for me to try for chap 12. I was thinking about Bofur or Lobelia, to try something new but the Durin boys are starting to become quite appealing to write. 
> 
> Now darling readers is your turn to be lovely and comment! I am missing very much to get some feedback about what you guys think. So go ahead! Say something, it certainly helps writing when you know someone is at the other side enjoying the story :)


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilba is back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta: crashlandthetardis <3.

It was strange to be back. When she climbed the road up Bagshot Row, seeing the familiar weeded roof of her childhood home at the end, Bilba had felt very different indeed, conflicting emotions coming all at once. It was all the same, mind you. The gardens of the neighbors she had passed by, in spite of the snow, were characteristic of the same owners that she knew when she had left running down to chase her dwarves. The circular doors hadn’t changed colors, the chimneys still expelled the same smoke, Master Gamgee still kept his front window broken to spite Mistress Underhill, and even the garden fence door creaked its familiar tune thanks to the strong wind.

 

Bilba was sure if she could get a glimpse into the various round windows of her former neighbors, she could correctly predict the routine each were immersed in. _She_ had changed though. Bilba was not the same hobbit that left. Change never was well – received in The Shire, unless forced into or an unavoidable necessity. Bilba was a Shireling through and through, change hadn’t come as a choice or as an easy thing to step into. Many hardships during the quest had left their invisible albeit always present scars in her mind, no matter how many good memories doubled them in quantity.

 

It was ten times easier still to remember the first time Thorin had kissed her, leaving bruises on her cracked lips, yet it only took a slip of her mind to remember his gray countenance, his cold skin, his glazed gaze, those days following the battle. If she closed her eyes at night she could recall his touch, the warmth of his hands, but some nights she still woke with the feel of the ghost of his hand where it had grabbed her harshly before exiling her. It wasn’t easy to accept that those shadows would perhaps always plague her and dampen their bruised relationship. Bilba was resolute enough to try leaving them behind for dark nights and scary winters. She was determined that they could make enough good between Thorin and her that all the bad would remain buried in the past. She believed it fiercely and she would fight the doubts that would creep from time to time, until they remained at bay on their own.

 

The green door her father had carved out himself broke the line of thoughts. Different types of nerves made her skin break into goose bumps.

 

Dain’s _royal_ guards, Krakish and Toir, were growling words at each other that she couldn’t understand even if they had been in Westron. After they had broken from the rest of the convoy for the Blue Mountains – a few miles east from Bree – they could not be as easily avoided as they had been with the whole traveling group where she had slipped away from time to time to look for better company. Dwalin was in charge of keeping their animosity, and dare she say discriminating comments from annoying her too much or offending a passerby. Thorin had been right – which was the same as saying _she_ had been wrong, which she wouldn’t admit to if her soon to be husband were present -, they shouldn’t have come with her. Dain had offered assistance for the whole convoy since most, if not all, of the dwarves that now stayed in Erebor were from the Iron Hills.  Most were used to answering to her future husband’s cousin – Lord of the Iron Hills, by his own right -, including the militia, and there was still awkwardness at the delegation of powers and wills. Never mind they owed their allegiance to the King under The Mountain, as Balin liked to remind them every time he got.

 

Thorin’s opinion had been pettier, based on his own dislike for the opinions of most dwarves from the Iron Hills that sat on his still expanding council. He had not liked the idea of knowing the percentage of dwarves from the Iron Hills still represented the biggest opposition to her presence among the dwarves no matter how many praises the company sang about her or how public Thorin tried to be with his affections – even if it went against his own reserved nature and her own shyness to public demonstrations -. Bilba had felt it would be a nice gesture to accept Dain’s suggestion, trying to be graceful and compliant. Or silly and naïve, like her soon to be husband whispered in her ear at their prolonged goodbye in his bedroom. At least Dwalin had agreed to come with her. The bald, tattooed dwarf might not be the most talkative of her dwarves but they had certainly come a long way from the initial awkwardness of their relationship and the hostility that had grew between them after the incident with the Arkenstone. If she could trust anyone to control the disruptive dwarves that formed her improvised Queen’s Guard – as Balin had named it trying to appease Thorin and maybe provoke said guards -, it was Dwalin.

 

She gave glance back to the green rounded afraid of knocking. She noted it had been repainted after her leaving, the dwarvish rune nowhere to be seen. They had sent a messenger with a hefty commission to announce Rose of their arrival and another – with its proportional payment – to her grandfather, promising a visit in the next few weeks and letting him know of her nearness. She heard a squeal at the other side of the door and her nervousness turned into anxiety. Dwalin was still behind on the road, checking Aüle knew what. Her Queen’s Guard – which she tried repeating the title many times a day, just to annoy them – gave her blank stares, though she noticed a bit of exasperation slipping. Bilba bit her lip and knocked the door before she could doubt anything else. The door opened quickly, revealing Rose in her young splendor. She barely got to see her cousin. Rose jumped to greet her, bringing her deep in her arms. Tears Bilba didn’t recall summoning ran past her cheeks as she held Rose tightly, murmuring nonsense, giggles leaving her lips. Bilba had missed them so much. A knot in her throat reminded her of the other half of the Brandybuck siblings that she would never get a chance to hold again. Just for that, she squeezed her cousin harder, her nose buried in the thick chocolate locks.  She heard  loud steps coming from the sitting room that could only belong to her dwarves and as she opened her eyes she saw Bofur and Nori smiling warmly at her and her soon to be nephews grinning with mischief. Rose broke away from her, allowing Bilba to clean her cousin’s cheeks from the evidence of their greeting. Rose gave a watery laugh, reminding Bilba of simpler times in spite of Rose’s thinner frame or the bags under her honey eyes.

 

It was Kíli who saw fit to lift her from the ground and spin her, making her laugh loudly. Then she was passed to Bofur who gave her a brief ruffle of her curls before Nori took her and uncharacteristically hugged her close. Fíli kissed her cheeks soundly, laughing at her red cheeks – it was obvious he was still fond of blushing hobbits -. Then she noticed the tension at the door, the grumpy guards already trying to intimidate Rose, who was now carrying whom she supposed was Prim’s toddler. Her soon to be nephews took action with speed, Kíli standing behind Rose for support. Fíli got before her cousin, knowing hierarchy dynamics between their same race would force the guards into some sort of more respectful stance, though submission was something unlikely to appear even for a crown prince they really didn’t know for long. Bilba noticed how Fíli narrowed his usually cheery blue eyes, a sneer on his lips, so alike to his uncle except for the golden mane. Bilba already regretted not leaving the guards at the inn outside of Hobbiton like Dwalin had suggested. The dwarves bowed enough to be respectful, taking a step back. Their faces were anything but respectful. Dwalin appeared just in time to put them in their places.

 

Once introductions had been made, she had nothing to stop her from satisfying her natural curiosity and inspect the only one in the room she wasn’t acquainted with. “So this is the little one!” she cried, fading part of the awkwardness in the foyer and finally taking her time to study the little figure within Rose’s protective hold. Dark curls framed his chubby face and a pair of big blue gems looked at her with a curiosity that could only belong to one that young. She noticed the familiar crinkle in the nose of Prim’s toddler, so alike his mother and aunt. A Took full and through, she mused.

 

Bofur and Nori had taken upon themselves to settle the guards in the last of the guest rooms, Dwalin following with a glare set in his eyes in case they thought about voicing any unpleasant opinion, no matter the language. The double trouble formed by the youngest heirs of the Durin line, followed her and Rose. Minutes later, when they headed to the kitchen, dinner in mind, and she still held Frodo in her arms, Bilba recalled carrying Rose like this when she had been that small. Prim and her would get into silly disputes about who could coddle little Rose – who had no patience for coddling much anyhow – or who would get to braid her hair, or choose the dress she would wear, almost like their own personal porcelain doll. Minutes later, Rose would squirm away from their attentions and escape to the nearest garden with colored ribbons falling from her curls or flying away.

 

“Oh this is just lovely!” Bilba exclaimed when she noticed the detailed paintwork in her former kitchen. Rose had been trailing behind her, mumbling the few changes they had made while Bilba had been gone, suggesting they could put it back if Bilba didn’t like it. She had dismissed it quickly, knowing well she would not be living here in her future. No matter the many happy memories Bag End held, Erebor was now her home. The kitchen had previously been green and white, currently there were little peeks of yellows and it was obvious it had all gone through a careful repainting.

 

“Drogo thought it would be pretty,” Rose muttered strained, her voice taking the tone she used when under an interrogation from one of her many aunts. Bilba noticed the nervous habit from childhood were she would clench her hands repeatedly to keep herself in check when she was too upset.

 

“I like it,” Bilba agreed, arranging her hold on Frodo who had stayed in her arms surprisingly calm, his little fingers distracted with her braids and the beads at the ends. She would try keeping the conversation pleasant for she didn’t like the discomfort in Rose’s frame.

 

“ _Dwarves,”_ Frodo mumbled suddenly, his bright blue eyes searching answers within her own after staring shortly at Kíli who was closest to her. “Lily, dwav.” Kíli groaned and she understood the dilemma. She repressed a giggle. Fíli laughed openly at his brother’s embarrassment, while stealing a bun laid on the table and taking a big bite.

 

“Yes darling, _dwarves_ ,” Bilba cooed swaying with Frodo. “These are _beads_ from dwarves. I’m not a dwarf though, I’m a hobbit like you and your aunt Rose”.

 

“Nina!” He squealed in response, a long look to his aunt – who in turn sighed with resignation -, as he took one of Bilba’s braids into his pouty mouth, saliva soon wetting it all. She was sure Thorin would most definitively not approve the saliva attack to the beads his own father, the mighty Thrain, had confectioned for his mother. Frodo looked so charmingly adorable though, with half of the braid popping from the corner of his mouth. What Thorin didn’t know, in this case, wouldn’t hurt him.

 

“Oh sweet one! _Not those too_!” Rose reprimanded softly as she approached and attempted to take the beads from his mouth, which was difficult enough. Fíli and Kíli snickered in the background, dropping lazily on the chairs.

 

“It’s not a problem, Rose,” Bilba pacified, shaking her braids as she moved her head which helped none her trapping situation.

 

“He already has already gotten saliva all over poor Fíli’s braids … and Nori’s too,” Rose informed a slight blush spreading on her cheeks, her hands still trying to tempt the little one away. Frodo might as well be half dwarf for he would not let go of the precious metal.

 

Suddenly, Bilba heard the raw sound of a painful hit and turned to find Dwalin glaring at Fíli harshly, who apparently had been caught unaware from behind if his hand rubbing the back of his head was any indication.

 

 _“Dwalin!”_ Fíli was quick jumping from the chair to escape from a second attack stepping behind her, while going around Rose, like they were used to doing while on the quest when they angered Thorin or Dwalin. The tattooed dwarf was glaring with cold fury at Fíli as he grumbled in Khuzdul in speed a series of curses – from the little she recognized –. Fíli refrained from further comment as he stayed behind, still rubbing the bruise. Nori had come with Dwalin, choosing to lean on the doorway with that sly smirk of his, full with satisfaction. Apparently the spy master had started already to hand over the information he collected during their separation.

 

“Yes, _Mister_ Dwalin, there are ladies and children in the room!” Kíli’s cheeky voice interrupted in defense of his brother, as it was expected, and he jumped away from the hit that came from the enormous dwarf just in time. With two dwarves taking their hide behind her and a small hobbit in her arms, Bilba was half torn into pinching the youngsters’ ears until they told her what Fíli had done, or calming the storming dwarf in her kitchen who looked about to murder – probably using some of her mother’s silverware – the princelings. At least Rose didn’t seem to be affected by the display, remaining still and glancing at the participants with only a bit of worry in her frown. A long week had apparently made her immune to dwarvish exhibitions of rough playing. She did look worried about the furniture, if her hands grabbing the pottery and placing them farther from those involved in the confrontation, were any indication.

 

“Oh she’ll want me to rip your insides, just wait until I tell her-” Dwalin began, his face between red and purple, giving a slight glance at Rose. He was probably cursing the lack of weapons thanks to Rose’s new placement. Her cousin blushed furiously.

 

“ _Dearest_ Mister Dwalin, there’s no need for further violence!” Fíli cut off frantically, stepping from his attempt of hiding trying to ease his former instructor, a hand on her shoulder a quick wink for the small hobbit in her arms that Bilba didn’t fail noticing calmed the tense fauntling in her arms and even won a small giggle. “There’s no need to be a blabber mouth about things that are nobody’s business…”

 

“ _Fíli_ , what did you do?” Bilba asked strained as her eyes narrowed on the older of the princes, who swallowed slowly in return. The little defiance on his face left him rather quickly as panic settled in. He gave a miniscule glance to Rose, who in turn was looking slightly anxious, worrying her lip with her teeth.

 

“I – I,” The usually well – spoken crown prince stammered, the braids in his whiskers trembling along as he brushed away inexistent locks from his face.

 

“He broke great aunt’s pink vase, the one in the .. in the…” Rose hurried, surprisingly in aid of the blonde dwarf.

 

“ _No!_ The one with the tiny white prints?” Bilba asked with dread, since it had been one of the few she had actually liked from the whole collection – a useless bunch if they asked Bilba -, she had inherited from her father. She gave a slight glare in Fíli’s direction but knew that there would be little to be done to repair the damage. Once broken, those were impossible to repair and the art involved in the making had been long lost with time and new techniques.  

 

“ _Yes!”_ Rose confirmed nodding emphatically. “We had thought of telling you _after_ you had settled…” Rose gave Nori a snapping glare, which made the red head widen the curly smirk on his lips. “I _do_ know how much you liked it!” Bilba sighed and surprised herself with how little her body felt the loss. It had been a pity, yet things could be worse. She had truly changed after two short years. If it had happened before, she probably would have snapped, whimper and even if it shamed her a bit to say it, faint at the bare thought of losing such priceless antiquity. Now, just looking at her almost nephew, Bilba easily remembered how she had felt when she had seen him so helpless after the battle, covered in many bloody bandages, the hisses of pain, the trembles, the wounds that would reopen, the uncertainty at their future. Bilba recalled her own helplessness as she had lain in the halls of healing, never alone for there was always someone with her, but always feeling helpless and so very empty. She shivered just to think of it. A silly vase could not hold a torch to the true grief she had experienced during the quest or in the short months after the battle.

 

“Oh well, as long as no one got hurt,” Bilba eased with a final sigh and a softened glare to the blonde prince. At the same time, she couldn’t help feeling she was missing something crucial from the looks Fíli, Kíli and Rose were sharing. Fíli however was quick to grin, kiss both cheeks and take Frodo from her arms, who squealed in surprise.

 

“I’ll make sure to compensate the loss, auntie!” He chimed charmingly, dimples framing his easy smile. “Now, if _Miss_ Primrose allows us, we would like to show Mister Dwalin the wonders of Frodo’s swordsmanship!” They gave her no time to reply as the dwarves scurried away deeper into the smial, the brothers pulling with them the older dwarves until only slight complaints in Khuzdul could be heard far away.

 

Rose stood awkwardly, a familiar blush on her cheeks as she looked in the direction the dwarves had taken. Bilba took the opportunity to close the space and take her into another hug. Rose was quick to reciprocate, while laughing merrily. “Oh Bilba! How I missed you!”  

 

“I should have come sooner,” Bilba admitted regretfully, knowing the younger of the Brandybucks would have been in need of her closer relatives after the loss of Primula. Even so far from Erebor she knew it hadn’t been the best of times for her young cousin, after so many losses and changes. If such terrible events hadn’t come to pass, perhaps Rose now wouldn’t look so mature, her cheeks wouldn’t be narrower, her eyes wouldn’t carry the grief that could be glimpsed from time to time and there wouldn’t be bags surrounding them. Rose had been but a wild child running loose when Bilba had left, and now she could only see a grown hobbit in Rose’s place.

 

“You have new responsibilities,” Rose muttered demurely, brushing an out of place lock from her eyes. “I won’t say that I didn’t wish to see you, but I understand...”

 

“You are my family Rose, I should have-“

 

“Enough should haves. You are here now and _that’s_ what matters,” Rose cut off with a wave of dismissal, forcing a cheery smile on her ruby lips. “You have plenty of stories waiting to be heard, including a proposal!” Bilba smiled, her heart still full of regret. Her stomach found the moment suitable for grumbling loudly, Rose’s eyes shot up in surprise. “ _The food!”_ She stressed, turning to the large pantry.

 

Curiosity and hunger made Bilba trail after her young cousin. “Don’t tell me you’ve become a master chef after I left!” Rose laughed loudly at this, shaking her head. Bilba forced an exaggerated sigh from her lips. “Then things haven’t changed as much as I feared!”

 

“Lobelia came by this morning to bring some food,” Rose explained as she looked around the pantry. It was at least something that has changed little. Bilba’s father had been ingenious if a bit exaggerated in the design and size of the pantry. None in the Shire could dispute its greatness and a few in the whole Shire were as ample. It looked comfortably full, as Bilba herself had liked keeping it.

 

“ _Lobelia_?”  She found herself repeating as she understood what Rose had said. If she had been asked who she thought would have helped Rose in her situation, Lobelia would have probably not been the first answer Bilba would have given. Rose spun around to give her a shrug and a sheepish smile.

 

“She has been a lot of help, ever since...” Rose turned once again, leaving the phrase unfinished as she sorted between the many preserved foods in the shelves. “Aha!” She exclaimed bringing a hidden pot from the upper level. Bilba almost squealed like a faunt when she realized what it was. Blueberry jam, and the blue lid certainly assured her it was from Lobelia.

 

“She has been _good_!” Bilba enthused with joy as she opened the jam and gave a quick taste using her pinky as an improvised spoon, not able to control the moan that escaped her. Rose nodded a pleased smile on her lips.

 

“She hasn’t changed much, mind you, but she’s always there when the need arises!” Rose commented with a grin as she finished grabbing the little other delicacies they would need. Bilba couldn’t help but to feel a sting over what her cousin said. For the millionth time, Bilba reprimanded herself, knowing it should have been her who was at Bag End helping little Rose, taking in the fauntling in her care. “And Bofur also has been very helpful. He and Nori are in charge of the food.”

 

“Bofur’s brother is one of the head cooks at Erebor and I think it was Bofur who taught him the basics,” Bilba informed as she helped carrying some of the things that were already prepared. It took them less than half an hour to arrange everything and Rose forced her to groom herself a bit before they sat for dinner. When she came back, most of the guests were sat. Krakish and Toir were sitting as far away as they could, with Nori and Dwalin at their sides. Fíli and Rose were missing, Kíli was quick to chime they were fixing Frodo up. They waited for the trio to appear, Rose helping Frodo to his seat by her side and Fíli helping Rose to hers. For a second Bilba seemed to hear Bofur mutter something under his breath but when she gave him a questioning glance, he shrugged and took a bun into his mouth.

 

Dinner went smoothly enough, plenty of food and drink for all. Bilba moaned loudly as she ate the last of the garlic bread. “Oh, she _has_ been nice!” Praising her absent cousin as she had for the past hour, every time she took tasty bite after tasty bite of the wonders Lobelia had brought.

 

“Yes, in spite of her clear disapproval of Miss Rose staying with us unchaperoned... Mrs. Sackville has been very … erh… helpful with the food,” Bofur agreed with delicacy. Bilba feared asking what Lobelia’s reaction had been to finding dwarves in Bag End with her very single, very female younger cousin, knowing it would dampen the merry mood.

 

“And you said she came in today?” She asked after swallowing the last bite. Rose nodded with a smile as she helped cleaning Frodo’s chin and nose. “I would have thought with her curious nose she would have stayed to see if I arrived in one piece.” It did sting a little that Lobelia hadn’t remained at Bag End, especially if she had plenty of excuses to use for staying.

 

“Apparently it was necessary for her to reprimand her daughter and inform her husband...” Nori replied while fixing himself with the last of the fish, before Rose had time to answer.  Bilba noticed the faint blush that appeared over her cheeks.

 

“Sallie or Lollie?” Bilba questioned absently, examining the flush over Rose’s cheeks and wondering about the cause.

 

“Eh, Lollie!” Rose replied, nervously brushing nonexistent locks away from her face.

 

“Oh, what did the poor dear do?”

 

“Something about ear tickling!” Kíli offered widely showing off his teeth. Bilba blushed profusely – old habits die hard – at the same time as she laughed loudly imagining her cousin’s face as the smallest of the litter brought something so terribly improper into a conversation with dwarves nonetheless. She could even understand the mortification Lobelia must have felt.

 

“I see.” Bilba said between chuckles. Rose’s blush had gone from a dust of pink to red tomato in little seconds. “Oh darling Rose, don’t blush so… Prim and I were witness to many of _your_ ear tickling through those _terrible_ tween years!”

 

 _“Bilba!”_ Rose cried outraged, making Bilba chuckle loudly. Perhaps the ale was stronger that she remembered. The dwarves were looking merry, drinking big gulps of the surprisingly strong liquor, hiding their grins and smirks from Rose behind their jars.

 

“Apologies, cousin. I was jesting!” She murmured between giggles, Nori snorting loudly. Rose rolled her eyes, shaking her head, anger slipping away with each hiccup that escaped Bilba.

 

“Remember _cousin_ , you left your journals behind when you went away and I’m in charge of their dusting off,” Rose chimed in sweetly, as she helped Frodo finishing the last of his soup. Nori snorted once again, a bit of his drink escaping by his nose as Kíli barked soundly and Fíli had to rest his arm behind Rose’s chair for support as he doubled over his belly.

 

“You are no fun anymore, sweetling,” Bilba declared bowing her head in defeat. “I liked you better when you blushed in more shades than the roses of your garden and squeaked like a country mouse when one said or did _improper_ things!”

 

“I don’t know about the squeaking but the lass still blushes prettily, Bilba,” Nori slurred with a wide smirk, wiggling his eyebrows lightly.

 

“Don’t make me tell Dori you’ve been misbehaving,” Bilba threatened in the same sweet tone Rose had used previously.  A small whine called her attention when she noticed Frodo extending his hands to Rose for her to rescue him from the confining chair. She noticed the ease in Rose’s practices movements with Frodo and how they settled quickly, with the toddler now in her lap starting to drop off by her shoulder as he examined the embroidery in Rose’s purple vest. “Now, little Frodo! They tell me you are a master swordsman?” She asked exaggerating her curiosity for the little one’s sake. Frodo looked from up from his aunt’s hold, bashful at the attention he was getting.

 

“ _Nooo_ , Fee n’ Lili dwaves’,” he mumbled, pink dusting his chubby cheeks, looking at the blonde dwarf at his side whose face broke with a grin spreading.  

 

“In no time, he’ll be defending his aunt’s honor, right Fíli?” Bofur was smirking in a way that told Bilba something was up but for the umpteenth time she couldn’t put her finger on it. She looked from Bofur to Fíli – who was rolling his eyes – and understood nothing further. Dwalin growled a few words she couldn’t catch, yet again. She sighed frustrated and decided to wait until she could catch Bofur or Kíli alone, who were the less secretive and would be the easiest to persuade.

 

“Oh of course!” Bilba encouraged Frodo nodding along. Rose had taken to brush away the long locks that covered Frodo’s eyes.  “And do you have a fierce sword?” The faunt nodded vigorously. “Have you named it?” This time he blushed and shook his head. “Then we must name it!”

 

“We’ll wait for some great feat and then we’ll name it,” Kíli continued. “Tomorrow, if we go to the forge then we could take Frodo, right Miss Rose?”

 

“Perhaps when everything’s more settled? Won’t he get in the way?” She asked in earnest.

 

 A couple of hours later, Bilba slipped into her bed, the familiar lavender smell filling her nostrils. The warmth of the thick covers welcomed her tired limbs. It seemed as if no one had used it, since she could still fill the feather bed enveloping with the form she had printed over the years. She didn’t notice when she fell asleep until a cold blood curling scream cut the silence like a knife. Frodo, she recognized within her dazed mind. Bilba moved without thought, going to her cousins, fire poker in her hand.

 

Rose’s room opened and before Bilba could attack, Rose went outside with a trembling, sobbing hobbit covered with a blanket on her arms. Her cousin shock her head, signaling for Bilba to remain quiet as she hushed into Frodo’s ears. Frodo was crying with his eyes shut, rubbing his nose to his aunt’s nightgown. Rose walked swaying slightly whispering endearments as her nephew continued to cry soundly in her arms. Bilba unsure of the procedure made a quick trip into Rose’s messy bedroom taking a robe, her eyes stinging and feeling dry. When she found Rose once again at the end of the hall, they had company.

 

Dwalin, in his shirtless splendor stood with an axe ready to be swung. Seconds after she arrived, the brothers jumped from behind him, Fíli’s eyes searching quickly for the bundle in Rose’s arms. Kíli looking half asleep, bow in hand. It was Bilba’s turn to control them and avoid questions that would only get a rise from the upset faunt. The last of the dwarves, Bofur and Nori too appeared with two grumbling guards following them.

 

“.. were an attack you think only the lad would have screamed?” Loir hissed under his breath with every ounce of anger at being woken in the middle of the night after a tiring trip. The glares from the dwarves were directed to Nori, so she assumed the red head had shared his unusually and unconventional ways of waking in a hurry.

 

“Everything’s fine my little love bug,” Bilba heard Rose whispering into the little one’s pointy ears, dropping kisses over his curls. “.. Only a bad dream...” She gave warning looks to the dwarves, and special glares to the guards as Frodo whimpered into her neck, his eyes shut tightly. She slipped past them through the corridors.

 

“Is the little lad alright?” The question came from Bofur who remained like the rest looking after Rose’s trail.

 

“Bad dream, she said,” Bilba answered feeling lost “I’ll make sure they’re fine. Off to bed!” She hushed, pushing Bofur who was the closest to the direction that would lead them back to the guest’s rooms. Her overly worried Queen’s Guard didn’t need to be asked twice, they slipped away leaving grumbles echoing in the round walls of her hobbit hole. The others however weren’t as inclined to go back to bed. In spite of Fíli and Kíli’s disheveled states, messy braids, they didn’t look particularly eager to leave the matter as it was. Dwalin growled something about a robe and left in the direction of Frodo’s room.   

 

“Tea and biscuits, then?” Bofur inquired as if settling a social quandary. Nori nodded and took off after him to the kitchen. Bilba headed after Rose, knowing well where she would find her cousin, as they hadn’t changed Bungo’s rocking chair from its honorary station at the sitting room. Before reaching their destination, Bilba recognized the soft tune echoing through the halls, coming from the sitting room.

 

_“… would you come to me and ease my pain. If you needed me, I would come to you. I would swim the seas for to ease your pain...”_

 

It had been a long time since Bilba had last heard that song. Rose was indeed swaying in the rocking chair with Frodo comfortably held against her chest, sniffing but no longer crying. Her cousin’s voice covered the room as a warm blanket like Thorin’s had done almost two years ago, freezing everything in place. The last time many years ago she had heard it, it had been Prim singing it sweetly to Drogo – changing few words - as she called him to bed, in true Tookish fashion midway to their wedding feast.

 

_“…the night’s forlorn and the morning’s born. And the morning shines with the lights of love. And you’ll miss sunrise if you close your eyes and that would break my heart in two…”_

 

Prim, with roses sprouting from her elaborate braid, had sung it happily, teasing her new husband as she pulled him flushing deep red from their table. Their loud cousins had whistled and encouraged shy Drogo to steal his wife away, but ever the Baggins he had stumbled with words, ears red, unsure of what to say. They had yelled at Prim, encouraging taking a lewd tune, instead of the ballad she had chosen. Tooks had many different and wild wedding traditions like stealing brides the night before the wedding, declaring drinking duels to measure the worthiness of the groom, to take the grooms to their wedding suite for the bedding to occur while taking off their garments. Prim had chosen the most harmless and most romantic – in Bilba’s opinion – the one who fit best her proper spouse. She invited her husband to bed, choosing yet again another harmless way for the proposition. In the old daring days, wives supposedly would leave garments to mark the way to the groom, but propriety had set in, even in the most rebellious households, song becoming a preferable choice for those with a bit of talent.

 

_“… would you come to me and ease my pain. If you needed me, I would come to you. I would swim the seas for to ease your pain...”_

 

Now the song missed its former joy, leaving Bilba with heart ache and tears showing in her blue eyes. Rose had always been good at imprinting songs with her own emotions and yet Bilba knew that the song was not carrying half the sorrow that Rose must be feeling. Bilba took the robe in her hands, using it to cover both hobbits softly avoiding breaking the tune. Rose smiled gratefully and the little light the embers gave, let Bilba see the unshed tears. She continued to hum the tune, softening until little could be heard and Frodo’s sniffs came far apart.

 

Fíli and Kíli dropped to the ground, tending the embers into a live flame. They shared few words, even when the tea came, not wanting to disturb the sleeping toddler. Rose eventually fell asleep. Bilba then took charge and convinced the dwarves to leave. Fíli offered to carry Rose back to her room, but Bilba decided against it. It would only wake Rose and she needed the little sleep she could get. When Bilba reached her room, she took her pillows and went back to the sitting room. She made herself comfortable in the armchair, opposite to Rose. It hadn’t been how she had imagined her first night back in Bag End but she didn’t want to be far in case they needed her.

 

Morning came too soon, waking her with the smell of greasy bacon and eggs coming from the kitchen. Rose and Frodo were gone from the rocking chair. Bilba stood, stretching her back with a loud pop. She hurt all over and she didn’t know if it was only because of the position she took while sleeping or from the trip. Probably both. She walked towards the appetizing smells, her stomach growling loudly yet again.

 

Rose was half awake, placing the plates and cups on the table. Nori was sitting at the head of the table, making faces at Frodo who was very awake as if nothing had happened the night before, eyes wide, taking in the many different expressions Nori could make.

 

“… and the dough was good as you can see. It rose nicely and it tastes good, lass,” Bofur babbled animatedly from his place behind the stove.

 

“You did it?” Bilba asked not managing to keep surprise from leaking into her voice, Rose nodded shyly. “Bread on your own?”

 

“I tasted it myself,” Bofur chimed with a looped grin. “It’s safe for the public!” Rose giggled, brushing her tired eyes.

 

“Next  step, warming water,” Rose added cheerfully with a small smile of her own.

 

“Let’s stay with the cold preparations for the next lessons, I fear Bilba has put fear deep inside me with that story about the exploding teacup!” Bofur joked, nudging Rose as she came close to examine her healthy looking loaves of bread. Bilba snorted at the memory.

 

“When we go to Tuckborough we’ll have to keep it from Auntie Ollie, or she’ll be able to brag about what a little house keeper you are becoming and if she wills it, you’ll be married by the end of the week!” Bilba cried dramatically with a wide grin. Rose rolled her eyes in the familiar way she did when one got too close to her romantic affairs, like Prim and her had been known to do from time to time, much to the younger Brandybuck’s embarrassment.

 

“She bet this spring, did she not cousin?” Rose asked slyly as an eyebrow rose. Bilba only could giggle nervously, knowing that she had been a very active participant from the little gamble they did on Rose’s behalf.

 

“It was _Prim_ who started it!” Bilba confessed, trying to keep the honey gaze from going sour. “You know with her doe eyes and her big lashes she is capable of –“

 

“Was,” Rose interrupted.

 

“What?”

 

“She _was_ capable,” Rose corrected softly, animosity forgotten leaving empty eyes instead. “I’ll bring some ham and jelly,” Rose gave a curt smile, finishing the conversation effectively by leaving to the pantry.  Bilba gazed in her cousin’s direction worriedly.

 

“The lass doesn’t take it well when her sister is mentioned,” Nori supplied from the table, his eyebrows rising impossibly high, still making faces to Frodo who looked as if he was trying to mimic the dwarf. “Barely has mentioned her twice since we arrived”.

 

“Do you know anything about how..?” Bilba heard herself asking, feeling immediately intrusive at Rose’s feelings.

 

“Your uncle Aldagrim mentioned a drowning by the Brandywine, bad weather and such,” Bofur answered softly in case Rose returned. They had barely talked or written about such delicate subject, Bilba choosing to wait until she reached Bag End to discuss it more privately when the moment came. Rose’s squirminess and obvious discomfort to the topic made Bilba suspect such thing as the right time would never come. She felt indeed invasive but her own personal relationship to Prim demanded closure and she assumed knowledge would at least give her something to hold unto.

 

“And Frodo’s nightmares?”

 

“That was the first, but Mrs. Sackville has let drop few times Miss Rose hasn’t been sleeping much the last months…” She stopped herself from asking further, feeling as if she was asking not her friends about her cousin but the Master of Whispers to inform her of the newest developments of one of her subjects. She just needed a moment with Rose to talk honestly and perhaps even ease a bit of the youngest burden.

 

After breakfast, most dwarves went to the forge to evaluate the damage the snow might have caused. Bofur had been the only one remaining ‘to guard her’, as Dwalin had stated when her beloved queen’s guard had complained from the basic work they would be assigned to do. Rose was sitting once again in the rocking chair, a small gardening book on her lap. She passed the pages quickly if a bit absently. Frodo had taken to sit by her feet, small figurines Bilba recognized as Bofur’s the center of his attention.

 

“Rose, why don’t you go and lay for a bit?” Bilba asked when Bofur left for a bath. Rose’s eyes rose from the small book she had been reading. She looked about to refuse but Bilba would have none of it. “You’re nodding off every five minutes, I’ll take care of Frodo while you sleep”.

 

“You are tired too!” The young one stressed.

 

“Go, I’ll take an afternoon nap.”

 

“But Bilba-“

 

“ _Now_.” Rose gave no more resistance as she walked away in direction to her bedroom. Bilba sighed tiredly. Frodo stopped yapping for a second, looking up and not finding Rose.

 

“Nina?”

 

“It’s Bilba time Frodo!” She exclaimed summoning her energy into cheerfulness, which wasn’t hard noticing the beaming hobbit on the ground. He rose on trembling legs, taking hold of her knees. “Do you know what that means?” Bilba whispered softly leaning in widening her eyes at the same time he shook his head. “ _Cookies!_ Tons and tons of cookies!”

 

“’okkis! Okis!” Frodo echoed with cheer. She still had the touch with Brandybucks, apparently, or cookies did. She grinned warmly, taking Frodo’s hand in hers and leading him to the kitchen. Baking always made everything better, in Bilba’s opinion. Once Bofur came back, his hair still dripping wet, they settled the toddler on his high chair, properly strapped and gave him enough dough to distract himself for some time. He would mutter nonsense mixed with a few words Bilba thought she recognized – including a familiar curse from her grandfather – alternating with little hums of improvised tunes.

 

Bilba felt content with the familiar surroundings and the toddler near her.  She was only missing Thorin and the rest of her dwarves for it to be perfect. She withheld the longing that came when she saw small children, focusing on the many tasks she had ahead.

 

“Fíli will want to go back to your Old Took, now that you’re here to help,” Bofur commented casually as he stripped the rabbit in his hands from its fur.

 

“Did it go badly?”

 

“No sour words shared, if that’s what you’re asking,” the always hatted dwarf eased. “But I won’t say the lad wasn’t caught surprised.” Bilba sighed, knowing her grandfather was not an easy character but still she had thought that by them coming with her own personal recommendation, it would have helped quickening the matters. She knew enough of crops to understand the sooner they went back to Erebor, the sooner they could start settling their own food supply instead of depending on the elves and the Iron Hills. The winter was a long one, which always said preceded a dry summer, not ideal for agriculture.

 

A knock on the door interrupted and shortened the questions she had for Bofur. She dried her hands on the apron, giving a peck to Frodo before going to the door. It would not do if whoever was outside rang the bell, Rose would wake for sure. When she opened the door, Bilba shouldn’t have been as surprised as she felt, seeing Lobelia at the other side.

 

“Darling cousin!” Bilba greeted, mustering enthusiasm wasn’t hard.

 

“Bilba!” Lobelia called when she noticed her behind the door, her thin lips collected with the rest of her features in a frown. Blue calculating eyes traveled up and down – rudely, if anyone asked – examining the changes. They remained at her hair, eyeing the numerous bright beads adorning it. Then awkwardly, they hugged briefly, politely as ever.

 

The sound coming from the kitchen called Bilba’s attention, walking back with the nasal tone of her older cousin complaining about this and that, trailing behind her. Lobelia had knocked on the door – something out of the ordinary, apparently -, waiting for Rose to greet her and confirm Bilba had indeed arrived and yes, there were more dwarves in the household. Bilba rolled her eyes dramatically at Bofur, who had left forgotten the rabbits and was helping her with the pastries she had been preparing. Lobelia must have seen the roll of her eyes, for she snapped back her fingers from Frodo’s curls and gave Bilba a look that made adrenaline rush in her veins.

 

“You’ve got gray hair,” Lobelia spat crudely, a fine eyebrow raised. “Aren’t you a bit old for carrying trinkets like a tween?” Bilba sighed and something within her cheered for her to retort. It had been too long since the last time she verbally chewed her cousin and Bilba would try to savor the moment.

 

“You surely have been eating your pastries instead of selling them, _again_ , dearest,” Bilba chimed in sweetly as she continued to pound the dough on the table while adding flour.

 

“Well at least _I’m_ being fed. You look like a ghost of a hobbit with all those protruding bones!” Lobelia snapped, blue eyes blazing. Bilba felt Bofur tensed at her side and she patted his arm with her own dirty hand to calm him down. “Do those _dwarves_ even know what to feed their pet?” She was glad it was Bofur who had stayed. Anyone with a more volatile personality would have probably attacked Lobelia down without thought. To be honest, Bilba was actually very surprised that no harm had come to Lobelia before she arrived. Rose had certainly grown into the diplomatic role grandfather had hoped raising her into, if she was able to appease irate dwarves and soften the verbal blows the older hobbit was known for throwing out.

 

“Much better than you with those garlic infused tomatoes!” She retorted, trying to keep her tone neutral. Her tummy even gave a little twirl remembering the delicious juice from the baked tomatoes Lobelia always did for grand occasions. Exageration and a bit of misdirection were typical of their little rows. Bilba had explained her dwarves it was the way of things. Verbal disputes were nice for the soul when one had a good sparring partner. And if Bilba may say so, Lobelia was the best.

 

“I didn’t hear you complain when you were stuffing them up your throat, at Old Took’s hundredth birthday!” Lobelia barked back quickly.

 

“And didn’t I regret it later!”

 

“I see your sensible side hasn’t dared showing back its face?”

 

“And I heard you cannot longer claim to be as proper as you said you were.”

 

“ _My_ propriety is not the one being the end joke of half Hobbiton!”

 

“You went to Bree.” Bilba finished waiting for a loud denial. Lobelia, with all her ruffled skirts, didn’t shriek anything in response, but sighed and tried to remain as dignified looking as she could. 

 

“Someone had to. Only for the sake of the reputation of the family, since _you_ care so little for it”.

 

“Thieves don’t have much reputation. You still owe me a spoon”. Bilba finished haughtily, in a tone that would have made Lobelia proud if she wasn’t at the other end of her display. It was enough for her cousin to break. A watery laugh flew from her thin lips mingled with a sob as Lobelia threw her arms around Bilba, holding her close like she hadn’t done since Belladona had passed away. They shared a handkerchief to dry their tears, after few minutes of indulgence. No words were shared. Bilba laughed openly when he noticed Bofur’s confused expression, Lobelia sharing a much quieter chuckle. She took her place by Frodo, taking away the half eaten raw dough from his sticky fingers, yet avoiding to reprimand Bilba for her carelessness.

 

They managed to keep the conversation light and polite while Lobelia remained in the house – she fled as soon as she noticed the dwarves coming back from the forge and the increase of their numbers -. Bofur refrained from sharing any insults that might have slipped Lobelia’s lips, letting her escape unharmed. 

 

“This is what you get when you put two dwarflings and miners to do a smithy’s work!” Dwalin, now in charge of the forge apparently, growled when they headed inside the smial. “Leaving the fuel out in the open, the doors of the smithy unlocked! I’ll be having words with Thor- King Thorin when we get back for sure!” Fíli and Kíli followed him, having sense of looking remorseful for whatever they were responsible for. Nori true to his manner was rolling his eyes every few minutes, slipping away from the irate guard.

 

“Where are the other two?” Bilba wondered when she didn’t see Krakish or Toir and the main door slammed shut. Fíli’s grin appeared with force.

 

“They will be taking care of the little improvements Mister Dwalin saw fit for the forge!” Kíli answered, mirroring his brother’s smile full with mischief.

 

“When will you be up for business?” Bilba questioned.

 

“Tomorrow we could start taking orders, but I’ll doubt with all of this snow anyone has even noticed our presence”. Fíli’s voice turned serious, worry obvious to catch. She knew the success of their small enterprise was a weight on his shoulders, being the first responsibility Thorin had trusted in him. She wished she could ease some of the worry, knowing that after talking to her grandfather things would get into place much sooner yet not wanting to push aside the work he had made since he arrived. She knew even after grandfather gave his permission officially, they would have to travel to the other head of clans to gain more support and maybe hold a public council at Michel Delving. She had to ask Rose who was the newest mayor, to prepare their approach.

 

“I’ll take a stroll outside and casually mention it,” Bilba offered while cleaning sticky rests of food from Frodo’s chubby cheeks.

 

Rose finally rose from her deep slumber minutes after luncheon was served – Bilba had gone a few times to check on her, finding her deep within the thick covers -. She tried apologizing for the length but Bilba shut her with a buttered bun in her mouth. Even if it would take many more naps and much more laughter for Rose to go back to how Bilba had left her before the quest, Bilba was resolved to do everything in her power to help. It was easy to assume the dwarves were of the same opinion from the way Fíli and Kíli had taken to sit by Rose’s sides, Frodo over Kíli’s lap sharing ridiculous stories until a giggle escaped her brunette cousin and both brothers shared a smirk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Point 1. So, for the baby talk. I’m basing myself in what I’ve seen with my baby cousins (one is just two – which fits perfectly for Frodo – and the other who just turned 4). The thing is that since they do speak Spanish as their mother language like me, I might be over my head and letting little Frodo speak at a different pace. But well, this is the world of fanfiction, so what my wish is my command. 
> 
> Point 2. Longer chapters do not mean longer time to update …erh… mostly. I’ve been drafting a more general plan of the story and well, originally by chap 15 we were supposed to be back in Erebor (for those of you who have been begging for some good ol’ Bagginshield, … erm… stay with me, I promise to make up for Thorin’s absence). I have a few things that I need to make happen before then… so I’m trying to push a bit my 5000/chap to fit into the bigger scheme. This means that I might take a chap more (never less) to get to Erebor, though I’m trying my best to keep the big plan. But don’t worry folks! We’ll get there! 
> 
> Point 3. The song. Yes. I was a bit unsure of what to do. I’m not very good creating songs in English and well translating from Spanish can be a bit of a difficulty since I sincerely believe that in most translations (especially poetry) it’s hard to keep the meaning and the forms behind the original. So, what did I do? Since my head wouldn’t stop picturing Julia Roberts in “Stepmom” singing to the little kid when he hurt his leg… I had to look up for the song and fit it into the scheme. There were so many covers of the song, it was so so so lovely to do a bit of research trying to find Rose’s voice within so many talented artists online. Honestly. I couldn’t find one that fit the whole thing I imagined but if I had to describe it … it would be something like:
> 
> The youthfulness of Amy Andrews (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=buYUhtTkCJQ).  
> The feel (warm yet a bit sad and something else altogether) of The Broken Circle Breakdown (Belgian Film) (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6t52hF0xQz4).  
> Another one, though it’s too chipper for what I imagined Rose’s version, there’s something about the clarity of the girl’s voice that’s just wow – perhaps Primula’s version?-. Samantha Mouchet (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gNbm_hSsNIE).  
> And if you wish more well-known artist, check out Mumford and Sons. I adore. And I don’t know why – call me crazy – but I think they would be perfect dwarves. There, I said it. 
> 
> This is the longest author’s note I’ve made. Ever. 
> 
> It’s your turn to comment and join me in my ramblings. Feedback, people, feedback! Reviews do make me write more. Just saying.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of bathtubs, dwobbits and clippers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta: crashlandthetardis.

The minute Rose told them Bilba was near Bag End, his mind went into a battle of frantic feelings. There were many factors of her visit that made him feel very different, very opposite things. Like Bofur had said - once they had snatched the letter from Rose-, Bilba should not be away from the Lonely Mountain just months away from the marriage ceremony with the fragile state they were all in, politically speaking. Also the much more complex situation that she was not meant to be traveling so far with so little comfort with all the injuries she had sustained physically and mentally that had still been midway in recovery when his small company left for The Shire. Add to that his uncle, who had been very against the idea of her leaving his side. All fair reasons to be troubled.

 

On the other hand, he was happy she was back with them. Fíli couldn’t deny - none within the company could – that he missed her even in the short weeks they’d been apart. In the little time she had been with them Bilba had become a vital part of his family’s life. She was a friend, sister, a mother, an aunt and everything in between for Kíli and himself. He couldn’t describe what she meant for Thorin, whom they had never seen as enraptured by a female before. Bilba had made their way into their hardened hearts well before reaching Erebor but it was only after everything had gone sour they understood she was made to be there with them.

 

Then came the next subject, the Thain and what Fíli had been sent to do. He wasn’t stupid or naive. Fíli knew that with her here everything would run smoothly and there would be little to no resistance from the Thain for them to proceed. Then they could finally begin to the proposal for the rest of the community and probably would be able to gather more enthusiasm from the other hobbits if they heard from a known source that dwarves were nicer than the stories made them out to be. By Bilba’s estimations, they would need from twenty to fifty willing volunteers and it would be a hard thing to obtain. Hobbits were comfortable creatures that were the happiest when at home, with crops well planted, flowers on their window, ale in a hand and a full stomach – as the Thain had kindly reminded him -. It would be difficult to convince such number to abandon their commodities when Erebor itself stood so precariously.

 

On the other side of the coin, he had been looking forward to proving himself to Thorin on his own. He was not proud enough to deny that Bilba would be more help than anything else he could think of, but he had still been pleased with being responsible under his uncle’s eyes of the success of the mission. There had not been many opportunities in the past to take leadership due to his age and being under the constant watch of older and more experienced dwarves than him in the Blue Mountains. Now, with their people still in the middle of a long moving process from Ered Luin to Erebor and many of his uncle’s trusted council members still away, it had been Fíli’s turn to step up. He knew it had been Balin who had encouraged Thorin into handing him more responsibility. It was no secret that Thorin still saw Kíli and Fíli as children, never wanting to weigh them down with his own burden. Even after the quest and the battle, Fíli had heard Thorin confessing to Balin to believing he had been wrong to bring them to the quest, their lives having been too many times for his liking in mortal peril. Fíli knew it was his way of showing the worry Thorin felt, but he had still felt offended that it had to be voiced in that way.

 

And at last, Rose.

 

Primrose had just started to show open interest. Without Bilba it had been easy to slip by Nori and Bofur, perhaps not unnoticed since the spy master was good at knowing everything beforehand. Flirting was easy and could be done in the open but now, knowing that even with her forward thinking ways Bilba still held decorum dear in her merry heart his advances would have to slow down and maybe it would give Primrose enough time to hesitate and flee like he guessed she was prone to do. His unexplainable attraction, curiosity or however it could be named was something as new to him as his responsibility to Thorin and it was not something he was willing to let go easily.

 

Bilba arrived full of energy despite the long trip, strolling with Frodo at her hip through her former smial as if she had never left but at the same time easing their troubled minds that something had gone wrong with Thorin. It seemed her only concern was Primrose and the little hobbit at her hip. After he barely dodged the beating Dwalin had intended to give him thanks to Nori’s uncanny ability for dropping information on the right ears, Fíli had managed to escape outside with Frodo, his brother and the rest of the dwarves that could accidently – or not – spill the beans to Bilba. It was the moment for some damage control, as Balin would call it.

 

“You will explain yourself pup!” Dwalin roared once they were outside, far from the reach of the hobbit’s keen ears. Kíli was frantically helping Frodo into his coat before he froze, giving Fíli concerned glances with a sheepish smile. Mister Dwalin’s rage was something one could never underestimate. The fair haired dwarf took a deep breath.   

 

“Perhaps it would preferable, Mister Dwalin that you inform me what Nori has certainly told you, since you know very well his tendencies for exaggerating first hand,” Fíli reasoned with an easy smile, though his insides were like jelly, stepping far away from Dwalin’s arms reach. Nori’s smirk grew impossibly curled behind his braided mustache as he swung two small wooden practice swords they kept at the garden.

 

“It was not I who told him, lad,” Nori purred with pure satisfaction, handing a wooden sword to Frodo who had leaped to the red head as soon as he recognized the improvised weapon. “Someone did beat me to it!” The not subtle glance he gave Bofur didn’t go amiss to anyone. The hatted dwarf had been in the middle of prepping his pipe, looking up when he noticed the silence and the eyes on his person.

 

“Not that _you_ complained,” Bofur said with a shrug, puffing his pipe. “I did try to warn you, lad,” the toymaker reasoned with a crooked smile. Fíli gave him a freezing glare, truly not expecting Bofur to be the one who would rat him out to Dwalin. “Though Nori cannot be free of blame since he did elaborate further anything I said”. Nori snorted loudly as he brushed the tips of his braids between his fingers. Frodo had taken to drag around his wooden weapon, Kíli behind him.

 

“A _male_ might welcome a warm bed for grieving but lasses are different!” Dwalin added summoning a preaching voice not unlike the one his brother used when reprimanding the youngest of Durin’s line. “I thought even _you_ ’d know better than that,” Dwalin muttered softly, bringing Fíli discomfort. Anger and loud reprimands he had expected from the fierce warrior, the softness of his voice reminded Fíli of his uncle, which was never a good point of comparison in anger.

 

“I resent that,” he mumbled before understanding and reacting to the implication he had done much more than he actually had. “And I have most certainly _not_ warmed her bed!”

 

“Not for lack of trying,” Bofur muttered loud enough for all to hear, gaining a loud bark from Nori and a snort from Kíli – who tried to hide it crying nonsense to Frodo – but before Fíli could do anything, Dwalin had glared at them into silence.

 

“Bofur! I _barely_ kissed her!” He snapped glaring at the hatted dwarf remembering how _he_ had been the interruption that stopped him from exploring Primrose further. Another deep breath and Fíli tried to resume his attempt of diplomacy into getting off any trouble. “ _Mister_ Dwalin, you as well as I, know very well that one does not propose courtship after such light flirtation!” He exclaimed outraged. “And I must certainly will _not_ be asking for permission now when we’ve-“

 

“What were you thinking?!” Dwalin again snapped, another raise of ire with his voice. “Did your mother drop you too many times on your head?” Kíli snorted behind him but tried hiding his amusement when Fíli glared at him. “This is not one of your flimsy girls at the Blue Mountains!”

 

“ _I am well aware of that_!” He cried annoyed with how everything resumed in his previous liaisons, sending any attempt of coolness down the can. Kíli patted his shoulder with an encouraging smile, understanding his frustration before once again running off to follow Frodo who had gone behind the bushes by the greenhouse. Dwalin was however not diminished in his stance. “I just want more time, Mister Dwalin. I’ll promise not to compromise Miss Primrose’s honor until I…” He remained silent as he didn’t know what he was supposed to wait for. He didn’t know for sure he wanted courtship, since difficulties seemed to pile up as days passed and he grew unsure of wanting to endure them. Fíli wasn’t willing either to let go from the unknown of Primrose Brandybuck. Yet he knew there were few options left, Bilba would accept nothing less from him.

 

It was Frodo who saved him from the awkward silence and Dwalin’s irate glare. He had managed to escape Kíli, to get his sword well placed and chose the moment to strike Dwalin’s knee strong enough to get a reaction from the seasoned fighter. “Little Rascal!” Dwalin growled, snapping away from glaring at Fíli to try catching the hobbit that ran away as soon as he dropped his stick.

 

The youngling easily took the attention away from the previous confrontation, bringing the dwarves to his level playing and swinging wooden swords away. They had all fallen at one point or another to the floor trying to catch him, getting their clothes wet. Dwalin had even attempted to teach him the basics of sword fighting but Frodo was too young to pay attention for long. The little one slipped past Dwalin’s sturdy thighs, making him roll over the floor with laughter. The snow was in the little one’s favor, helping him escape and slowing his fierce adversaries. Frodo’s long curls stepped into Fíli’s view – who had remained on the floor after a rather embarrassing fall - when the little hobbit jumped into his lap to hide from Dwalin. Fíli continued laughing, jumping up with a strong hold on his small form ready to run away from his former instructor.

 

“Those big feet can run for sure!” Nori commented with a smirk from the tree he had climbed into.

 

“Or maybe Mister Dwalin’s becoming old!” Kíli chimed from his side, swinging his wooden sword in time to block a hit from the subject of his taunts, the second hit he didn’t expect and got hit soundly. Fíli took the temporary distraction to cover Frodo’s shivering form, opening his coat and nestling him inside. He would have to take him to Rose soon if he didn’t want her to worry.

 

“Funny, after lying with younglings they say age slows,” Nori dropped from the tree, the subtlety of his comment not falling on deft ears. Dwalin glared at him but was wise enough not to deliver another hit, only glaring at the implication. It wouldn’t do for Mister Dwalin to beat the former thief if he still wanted to court the youngest of Nori’s brothers.  Kíli however was not bound by any courtship with those within the company, taking a rather big amount of snow and throwing into the unaware master of whispers.

 

A giggle from the hobbit hole made Fíli turn. “Master Kíli, if I had known snow fighting was what you meant when you talked about sword fighting then I would have joined you sooner.” Kíli had fallen to the ground after Nori took his momentary distraction and extracted his revenge. Primrose had forgotten her coat inside, her eyes searching for her nephew.

 

“Your nephew is the fiercest of the lot, managing to defeat five dwarves when a dragon could not,” Fíli enthused as he walked to her, Frodo still within his coat. She smiled sweetly when she distinguished the wet curls. Silence – if one didn’t count Kíli’s whimpers from the ground – had fallen within the company. Dwalin had stepped besides Fíli, a frown on his face. Primrose however wasn’t dampened by the change of mood.

 

“Is Fíli right, Mister Dwalin?” She questioned teasingly with a hesitant smile. Dwalin could be intimidating even to those who knew him. The tattooed dwarf gave a second to think his answer before his mouth broke into a thin smile.

 

“Lady Bilba has showed us the stealth of hobbits, but it is little Frodo who surprises us with his level of skill at such a young age,” Dwalin was solemn in his statement but his eyes were shinning with humor, Rose beamed at the bigger dwarf. She shivered suddenly, her arms brushing her sides.

 

“Then I must take care of my little warrior,” She turned to Fíli, making his heart miss a beat or two, wishing she might want to take care of him as well. “Fíli, would you mind carrying Frodo back to the house?” Words escaped him, so Fíli nodded a sheepish smile behind his whiskers. He noticed Dwalin beginning to fume and Nori ready to object.

 

“Great idea! We’ll help set the table!” Kíli cried from the ground, still under Nori’s hold. Fíli shot his brother a thankful grin before taking off to the smial with Rose following him closely. She disappeared into the chambers and joined him at the bathroom with clothes for her nephew.

 

“You might consider changing as well,” Rose commented as she helped Fíli out of his dampened coat, smiling at Frodo who was looking suspiciously at the bathtub.

 

“The coat took most of the water.”

 

“Green Lady!” Rose sighed prettily when she took Frodo from his hold, taking in his wet clothes and hair. She gave Fíli a brief scolding gaze which he answered with a bright grin, as he eased off another layer.  “Darling, even if _dwarves_ don’t, you know better than this,” She murmured into Frodo’s ear, brushing away a wet lock with the tip of her nose. Out of his coat and outer layers, Fíli couldn’t help himself and dropped over the small stool by the bathtub, with a tired sigh. Rose didn’t make any sign she minded his presence, peeling off wet garment after wet garment from her nephew until he was as bare as her sister had brought him to the world. Frodo squirmed and tried to break free from her hold until she got him inside the tub, half filled with heated water. “Now let’s hope sword fighting won’t bring sick days,” she mumbled as she pulled back her sleeves. Her own brown locks kept loosening themselves from the low bun she kept at the back of her head. From his spot, Fíli could admire the sweet curve of her neck, remembering how he had felt her pulse fluttering under his lips a little while ago. He sighed, frustrated bringing himself away from the thoughts that would be of no use with the youngling at the tub and the many visitors inside the smial.

 

“Fíli?” She called, turning to catch his eye. “Would you mind passing the bottle behind you?” He nodded and did as she told, smelling the faint scent of peaches when she opened the bottle and poured the liquid over Frodo’s curls.

 

“Nina, swo’,” Frodo piped from the tub.

 

“Munchkin, no more swords for today,” Rose tutted as her fingers rubbed her nephew’s curls humming a song. In no time, Rose had finished bathing her nephew, pulling him out of the water while covering him with a fluffy towel. Fíli helped her, handing her Frodo’s clothes. Once dressed, Frodo whined to leave until Rose opened the door for him.  She turned and began emptying the bathtub, humming louder than before, making Fíli suspect she though he had gone with Frodo.

 

“I wanted to thank you for helping me get out of the spot with Dwalin and Bilba,” She gave a startled jump at his words, confirming she thought he had gone with Frodo. Fíli tried giving her a dashing smile, blush breaking on her soft cheeks. She avoided looking him in the eye, choosing to stare a point lower by his neck and quickly changing to see elsewhere. He stepped near her, enjoying how flustered she could get in so little time.

 

“Well, the vase _is_ broken… and I have to admit I thought she would be a bit angrier. But it would be much more preferable than her knowing that you and me, that’s what I thought Mister Dwalin... ehm…  I just thought that it would be much less grave than whatever _you_ did, if Mister Dwalin’s glare was anything to go by and you could take the blame for Frodo and I because I’m sure she wouldn’t have liked that I would leave such a precious-“ A hand on her mouth stopped her from babbling on. She was warm to his touch, the obvious heat source being the pink hue on her cheeks. Her eyebrows shot up high in her brow, her eyes nervously studying his nearness.

 

“About that,” He took another step closer to her, which made her take another back until the back of her legs touched the border of the bathtub. He dropped his hand, not before tracing her lower lip softly with his thumb. A smirk spread on his lips, knowing he had her trapped once again and escaping was almost impossible without making any mess or sound. Her eyes skipped through the room evaluating an exit path, showing she reached the same conclusion he did with a nervous cough, leaning away.

 

“I-I think it- I think it would be best for you to-” She shrieked when he finally closed the little space that remained between them. She tried looking anywhere but him, her face turning away when she felt him leaning in chasing after her, one of his hands slipping to reclaim her waist in a strong grip. Her face turning from his gave him leverage as well, she was giving him perfect access to get reacquainted with the curve on her neck he had previously admired. His lips reaching his target, her hands shot up to his chest with the clear intention of pushing him away – which he would not allow her to do – yet changed their mission when his tongue dared to lick the tender skin before sucking softly. She gasped, leaning into his touch; the curves of her figure pushed into his chest, the thin fabric of his shirt letting him feel how warm her body was. A moan left her lips, affecting him to the core.

 

“You were saying, sweet Primrose?” he murmured just an inch from her ears. Her hands clenched on his buttoned shirt and something akin to a moan left her once again as he resumed his nibbling.

 

“I- Fíli this is most improper-“ he broadened his path,  pushing away the fabric covering her shoulder, getting better access to her collarbone and the roundness of her shoulder, his teeth biting the skin softly, making her hiss yet she was still under his hold without any complaint beside the silly comments she made.

 

“I thought you said you didn’t care about propriety,” he countered between open mouthed kisses. He had to be careful not to leave a mark as much as he wished he could. Bilba had missed him staring – _constantly_ according to Kíli while sparring – and the obvious reason why Dwalin was in hysterics after Bofur and Nori had blabbered into his gossipy ears. It wouldn’t do to have words with Nori or Bofur to stop any further comment, for they would dismiss him quickly and would continue their thorough reports. A loud moan escaping Rose’s lips brought his mind back to task. He straightened his back, nudging her small nose with his larger one, calling for her undivided attention. She opened her eyes slowly, half dazed, probably confused at what had stopped him from devouring her. His male ego soared when she didn’t wait for him to act, surprising him when her lips rushed forward and meet his without asking permission. Not that she would ever need any. The fingers under his jaw interlocked with his beard, pulling him closer and closer until he couldn’t move more without risking throwing her into the bathtub. She kissed him with a fierceness he hadn’t expected from a hobbit despite the many times his eyes had been scarred when finding his regal uncle with his own particular lady hobbit.

 

The halflings were supposed to be soft, tender and easily impressionable. Fíli had purposely molded his attentions not to scare her with the naturally more audacious displays of dwarves. He would not have her skipping away if he could help it.  Fíli couldn’t suppress the groan when her lips opened and let her teeth sink into his lips. With the sound, she stilled in his arms, her lips leaving his suddenly, still stinging and probably bruised. It was now his turn to be confused at her abandonment. If he had been any younger he would have whined. Her doe like golden eyes were wide open, horrified at her actions. Fíli refused to let it dampen his mood, moving quickly into pecking her lips chastely, finding comfort in that she had yet to try to escape his arms.

 

“I-“She stuttered pulling away, her eyes widening impossibly larger than before. “You have to stop!” She shrieked, diverting her gaze from his and trying to lean back away. Her cheeks were the expected reddish color he had grown so fond of, the blush traveling up to the tips of her ears - picking through her dark curls – and down her neck past the tempting line of her cleavage.

 

“Stop with what?” He questioned trying to summon naiveté, forcing his eyes to stay on her face. The boldest of his hands took her dainty shin and turned her so she would be forced to look at him, dropping yet another peck on her pink lightly swollen lips not able to miss the opportunity.  Mahal knew that now with Bilba around the little chances of getting time alone with his- with Primrose would be few and apart. Fíli had to get as much of her as he could in the little time he could steal.

 

“Fíli!” She hissed with disapproval, yet her hands were comfortably tucked in his neckline. “Bilba will know what you are doing!”

 

“Oh but _I’m_ not doing anything,” He continued calmly, his fingers choosing to brush away the locks from her face, lingering on her cheek, passing through her rosy lips, pleased with how comfortable she was under his touch. “Besides, it is _you_ Miss Rose who should stop with your bold advances”. It took her a second and few blinks to process his words.

 

“ _My what_?” She snapped, her eyes narrowing dangerously, her fingers clenching painfully on his beard.

 

“It is most unbecoming of a respectable lady hobbit such as you to be trapping males in greenhouses and bathrooms to ravish them,” He continued with the most serious of tones he could summon though he suspected his lips were probably curling at its ends. He stole yet another brief kiss from her anger frozen form. Her eyes blinked owlishly before they narrowed once again in comprehension.

 

“Oh you insufferable dwarf!” She snapped but instead of leaving him with a huff, like he expected, she pulled a bit harshly at his braided whiskers, resuming her former attack, not before making a declaration. “I’ll show you bold!” Her lips barely had time to cover his own in a kiss he looked forward experiencing when his brother, always on time to ruin his fun, appeared at the bathroom door.

 

“Miss Rose, have you seen- ,” Kíli’s chipper voice had an immediate freezing effect on Rose’s attentions making her jump away. She would have fallen in the tub if Fíli hadn’t reacted fast enough, catching her. “Mahal! _Fíli!_ Bilba is going to gut you!”

 

“I don’t understand why everyone believes I’m the one who should be held responsible,” Fíli couldn’t help to chime in cheekily, squeezing the curve of the hip under his hold, winking at Rose who just glared at him. Kíli only left when she finally she huffed and pushed Fíli away. He allowed her to move away. She quickly and absently arranged her top back to her shoulder, brushing away her hair and briefly checking herself on the mirror. He made sure his whiskers were still correctly braided, before offering his elbow to the lady hobbit, which she took with a roll of her eyes and the hint of a smile. He escorted her back to the dining room, picking up Frodo on the way.  Not minding the marked stares from his fellow dwarves he dropped by Primrose’s side after helping her to her seat.

 

The guards’ sour presence was soon forgotten with Bilba’s cheerfulness. He found himself laughing along with the others as Bilba chirped in embarrassing anecdotes of her younger cousin, who flushed while trying to look dignified and dropping subtle threats. Ear tickling was something he was growing exponentially curious of, if the deep blush on Rose’s cheeks was anything to go by. When his hand remained too long over Primrose’s shoulders he would get a shove from Nori by his side or a remark in Khuzdul from Bofur. Dwalin would probably be having a stroke if he dared to touch her once more.

 

Fíli found it harder and harder to repress his actions with Primrose responding so nicely. She would glare at him shortly when she caught him staring. She even pinched his leg – surprisingly painfully – when his hand stayed lower and longer than propriety allowed, without breaking her sweet stare on something Bilba was saying and she smiled wistfully. _But_ when Primrose laughed it was him she would look at first, if Bilba said something that embarrassed her it was his reaction she searched. So he allowed her many attempts of keeping discretion, remaining a silent but not inactive admirer.

 

After most had left for the night, he had managed enough discretion to go to Rose’s room without anyone noticing. He knocked on the door softly, knowing Frodo was probably sleeping or about to. She opened it surprised; she was already ready for bed, her long untied curls framing her face.

 

“Is something wrong?” She asked softly checking behind her for her nephew.

 

“He’s asleep?” Fíli whispered back, looking at the crib by the side of her bed. She nodded, brushing away her loose hair from her face. It was then he noticed she was wearing the same nightgown she had used the night they arrived. It still made her into an impossibly delicious sight. A hand on his chin made him look away from her open cleavage into unamused eyes. Fíli smiled sheepishly, caught in his staring. “I just came to say goodnight,”

 

“We said goodnight by the table, Fíli,” She retorted, her lips curling at its ends. “Goodnight, Fíli,” Rose added, her eyes dropping to his mouth, raising quickly back when it was her time to get caught by his eyes. He knew they were at a hall shared by Bilba’s room and Frodo’s, where Dwalin was staying. It was not the perfect spot for any romantic notion he could have, not that he had thought much of what to do when he came. Fíli went for simplicity, kissing her softly, shortly, using every string of his willpower not to push himself into her chambers. When he parted, her lips followed his, taking them back into another sweet kiss. She hummed softly before opening her eyes, a smile on her pink lips. “Good night,” Rose repeated, making him grin widely. He brushed her cheeks with his knuckles before pulling himself away and going back to his room.

 

He woke up startled by Frodo’s scream. Kíli fell out of bed, tangled in his sheets. Fíli took off first, hastily grabbing the nearest of his swords with Kíli not far behind him. They made a wrong turn in their haste, having to return and finally find the origin of the scream. Rose was holding a whimpering Frodo on her arms, hushing and murmuring assurances, and endearments as she swayed in rhythm. It took them a couple of hours until everything once again settled. Toir and Krakish had returned to their chambers as soon as Bilba dismissed them, murmuring loud enough complaints that Dwalin would make them regret the next day for sure. Bofur and Nori prepared an improvised snack while they waited with Rose as she sang the little one back to sleep.

 

Her voice was as sweet as Bilba had said, yet he wished there were merrier words and a lighter tune coming from her lips. Kíli and Fíli took charge of feeding the fire back to life, choosing to sit by it until Bilba called their attention. Primrose had stopped singing a while ago, but it was then they noticed she had fallen asleep on the rocking chair, with Frodo tightly held to her chest. The sight would have been endearing if the circumstances surrounding it weren’t painted with so much sorrow. He had not failed to notice the dark circles around Primrose’s golden hues, or the frown upon her brow or she would chew on her lower lip with worry. He feared he had seen them before but he was a fool forgetting about her recent grief easily when she would smile no matter how small or she would giggle at his antics. He was a fool indeed. Perhaps Dwalin was right in discouraging him to pursue her.

 

Kíli yawned greatly closing their door behind him, before throwing himself into his bed, not minding the bedding on the ground. “Brother,” he called hoping Kíli would remain awake for few more minutes. Kíli groaned into his pillow.

 

“Are we to speak about your lady hobbit _again_?” Kíli asked tiredly. “Could this not wait ‘til tomorrow?”

 

“Do you agree with them brother?” Fíli asked nervously. “Should I just drop it?”

 

“I don’t care what they think, Fee’,” Kíli mumbled from his pillow before raising his head and meeting his eyes. “If you wish to court the lass, _I’ll_ support you. If you don’t and you are just flirting with a pretty face, then… I’ll support you too I guess, though I’d recommend you against it”.

 

“It is a bit sudden to be-“

 

“I’m not saying you ask her grandfather for permission nor send a letter to Thorin tomorrow, or make a public declaration of undying love,” Kíli interrupted, sighing loudly in frustration. His brother turned completely, laying on his back, his arms supporting his head. “You do what you said you would do, wait and think before you do anything you’ll regret”.

 

“I though you wanted me to ask permission,” Fíli murmured from his side of the bedroom.

 

“Don’t be a fool, Fee’. I’m recommending caution,” Kíli blew out the candle in the room, silently declaring the conversation was over from his part.

 

“Who would have said my little brother would recommend caution?” Fíli teased softly, earning a huff and eventually a thrown pillow his way.

 

Next morning they greeted each other with tired faces. On the other hand Frodo was merry as a child should be, mumbling and piping away as he mimicked Nori’s wide spectrum of faces. Rose as well seemed to be in good spirits but something told Fíli her cheery voice and the bright smile was trying to hide the same tired lines and weary eyes that he saw the day before. Bilba on her side was adding muffins on Frodo’s plate, serving Rose an extra buttery bun while she gave them concerned glances from time to time.

 

He didn’t have time to do anything as they were soon on their way to the Forge. Despite the events the previous night, his elders decided not to give him a break and continue to rattle him about Primrose. Bofur had warned him yet again, Nori had threatened him and Dwalin had hit him again on the back of his head, expecting a different reaction from the crown prince. Kíli had heard them muttering between themselves. _His royal highness had forgotten the many incidents in Ered Luin with his indiscretions_ , Bofur had said shaking his head. Thorin would not be pleased if Fíli decided to break the little lass’ heart, Dwalin had growled. Bilba would kill him, Nori had added leaving no doubt he would be of assistance. The only reason he knew Dwalin kept his mouth shut and didn’t tell Bilba was some sort of morbid fascination into foreseeing how it all would end up. And of course, Fíli suspected Dwalin was involved in the bet between Bofur and Nori – and Kíli, though he tried denying it multiple times - of how badly the crown prince would screw things over and what the result would be. Kíli had been too tempted not to participate, having inside information not minding his brother might see his actions as treason.

 

He sighed in frustration yet again as he opened the wooden doors of the Forge. Bilba wouldn’t need anyone telling her anything if things went the same way they were going since she arrived. The lack of subtlety of the dwarves, the way Fíli’s eyes were glued to Bilba’s younger cousin from the moment she came into view, the lingering gestures or the many blushes she gave when she noticed him staring. That was only without counting the moments Nori, Dwalin or Bofur had caught the royal heir a bit too close in a lonely corridor.

 

So far they were lucky. Bilba was more focused on other things, mainly Rose’s dealings with her sister’s passing or coddling on the little one, which he guessed after last night would only increase in intensity. Bilba told them before they left, she had already written several letters to her cousins afar to help with _their_ own business. At least that settled the doubt that had been over their heads. Apparently his kingly uncle had not taken into another quarrel with his lady hobbit before she left and she was still very happy with a spring wedding. No sets back there.

 

“Are you at least serious about the lass?” Dwalin asked before taking a swing to the anvil, yet again questioning Fíli’s judgment. The crown prince huffed.

 

“ _Mister Dwalin_!”

 

“I’d hope if you’re losing your manhood, at least do it for a girl you like better than the rest!” Dwalin intercepted quickly. “Bilba’s gotten handy with the knives Thorin gave her”.

 

“Bilba won’t be that mad Dwalin. Once she sees...” Fíli began but was yet again interrupted. He didn’t even understood why he tried, his words fell to ears that worked even worse than Oin’s’.

 

“Once she asks what I just did and you continue answering nonsense, she will rip your balls off,” Dwalin continued, not minding Fíli’s many attempts to rebuke the tattooed dwarf’s accusations. Kíli couldn’t help but to laugh at his brother’s horrified expression. Nori grunted a warning about Dain’s guards coming back with the wood they needed for repairs and the subject was thankfully dropped. Dwalin gave Fíli another look that didn’t need any other word said. Then the complaints about the lousy state of the Forge began as the Captain of Guards examined the structure and found it lacking. Apparently with the little days they had, Dwalin considered they should have at least had a functioning unit by now. Yet it was far from it.

 

A long day awaited them. Due to the unwelcome presence of the guards, at least Fíli didn’t get any other harassing comment about his love life. Another difficulty to be added to the list he had begun forming in his head. If there were putting objections to Thorin marrying Bilba, who was now seen as one of the heroes who helped recovering Erebor, what would they say if Fíli started courting a hobbit that was not nobility nor a well – known character? He sighed as he swung the hammer to the anvil. _Maybe_ they could try saying the Thain was like a King, and since Rose was _his_ granddaughter… Fíli broke his line of thought. There were many things that had to happen before he even had to decide how to introduce Rose to the Council. First he had to decide what to do.

 

“Thow! Thow!” Frodo cried from his seat, raising his chubby arms for Kíli to hold him and if Fíli understood correctly, to throw him into the air. The afternoon passed quickly when they finally got an order established. He was ashamed to see the difference of their advances under Dwalin’s strong direction and the things they had done under his own. Kíli had seen the frown that had set on his brow when they had walked back to the smial and he had made it his mission to make Fíli laugh.

 

“You see dearest Auntie, not _all_ hobbits hate to be thrown!” Kíli cried as he put an arm around Fíli, bringing him into the teasing of their favorite burglar. She had already offered to go for a stroll to advertise their services with a knowing smile.

 

“ _We_ are not sacks of potatoes to be thrown Kíli _darling_ ,” Bilba said in a sickeningly sweet tone as she kneaded the dough considerably harsher.

 

“You didn’t mind when we threw you-“ Fíli piped but Bilba was quicker.

 

“We were in a situation where imminent death was upon us,” Bilba excused with the dramatic understone she was used to adding to her stories, her cheeks tinting bright red.

 

“Imminent death was _always_ upon us,” Fíli added cheekily, earning a frosty glance from Bilba.

 

Bilba left for her stroll with Dwalin to take food to Dain’s dwarves, to introduce at least Dwalin to those she would for sure find on the road and also to take a small response to be sent to the Thain. They had settled by the sitting room, into the normalcy they had now grown used to from the little time they spent with Primrose and Frodo. He had been about to suggest a bit of _gardening_ to seize alone time with Rose. She had gone to search something she hadn’t named but when she returned her intentions were clear and all of his planning was laid forgotten. Panic settled between the dwarves, when they saw her sitting on the floor, in front of the hearth with Frodo on her lap, shears in hand.

 

“Miss Rose, what are you doing?” Bofur stammered as he tried reaching the clippers from her hands. She looked at him eyes furrowed in confusion, pulling her hand away from his reach. It was true that Frodo’s impossibly wild curls were growing out of control, but cutting them to a dwarf was always an extreme measure.

 

“Cutting his hair, Master Bofur,” she answered nonchalantly as she brushed back Frodo’s hair, measuring with her fingers how much she would cut, her nephew leaning pleased at her touch. “It’s too long and he can hardly see, I’m surprised he hasn’t hurt himself or you at your little practices,” She started parting locks, humming, oblivious to the horrified expressions they carried.

 

“I’m sure Master Frodo can learn to adapt to the length of his hair,” Nori murmured, his deft hands managing to grab the shears from her hand.

 

“ _Master Nori_!” She snapped, reaching back for the clippers and glaring at the red headed dwarf. Fíli cleared his throat, breaking the anxious and a bit illogical debacle.

 

“For a dwarf, it is a sign of health and strength to carry their hair long,” he began explaining, his eyes not leaving the clippers on her hand as if she carried a deadly weapon and was about to take the life of the person she cared for the most. “Primrose, what if… what if we braid it?” he said, noticing how his brother’s eyes opened impossibly wider at the suggestion. He knew he’d be gaining a few smacks in the head when Dwalin came back – and if Nori’s narrowed eyes were any indication, Dwalin wouldn’t need to ask for the spy master would gladly inform him-.  He chose to ignore their shocked and weary stares to focus on the lady hobbit at his feet. Primrose looked uncertain, glancing between his braids and Nori’s, the closer ones to her for examination.

 

“I guess we could try…” she mumbled hesitantly, her hands brushing the wild dark brown curls of her nephew. It was all he needed. He didn’t wait for the others to object. He took the scissors from her hands, giving them to Kíli who was quick to disappear and might have destroyed them after – he would never really know their fate -. She looked at him expectantly and he seized the opportunity fully. It couldn’t really qualify as alone time by his book but it was as good as any. Fíli sat behind her before anyone could protest both legs at the sides of her body. He felt her warm back on his chest, briefly wondering if he touched her further, she would set him on fire. His heart was beating wildly at the proximity as his arms surrounded her, taking the brown lock on her hands and teaching her what to do for an effective dwarfish braid. He felt her tremble when his chest fully touched her back, and especially when he whispered instructions on her pointy ears. Her neck and whole face were red, goose bumps visible on her skin but she managed to remain silent, nodding at his directions. He wasn’t fairing very well, her scent was making him dizzy, her own free brown locks teasing his beard begging to be braided. His creative mind was already thinking of designs he would make for festivities, marking her as his and those he would teach her to give him so everyone would know to whom he belonged. For a second a long forgotten memory went into his brain.

 

His father, mother and himself had been sitting in such way, as both of his parents decided on which braids to place and choosing the proper beads. His father, his coloring so similar to Fíli’s, had taken every chance to drop kisses and subtle - or not so subtle - remarks for his mother’s ears, making her giggle like she never did after his death. Fíli remembered whining on her lap for the lack of attention, making faces at his father’s loving actions. It was inevitable that he shortly entertained the idea of having blonde dwobbits running around Erebor. Even Frodo seemed like a perfect fit between them with his dark locks and wide blue eyes. His hands were now covering Primrose’s as she tried braiding the front of Frodo’s bangs to his back. His fingers helped her collecting few strands from the sides, the curls feeling buttery soft under his fingers. He leaned further on her neck, his nose brushed by the curls that had run free from the improvised bun Rose had kept them in. They were alike in texture to those of her nephew but the scent was one that made him mad.

 

“Oi! _Fíli!_ Stop harassing Miss Rose!” his little, soon to be dead brother cried as he came back. Rose stilled in his arms before turning to catch his blushing cheeks a smile full of mischief spreading on her lips, blush still adorning her cheeks and further.

 

“Kíli, just let him teach me how to tie them and I’ll push him away myself,” she countered sweetly, her back still pressed securely to Fíli’s chest. His cheeks still felt on fire. Kíli might have tried to embarrass him but what Fíli felt was far from whatever his brother had been thinking. His thoughts had taken him too far in a serious courtship, beads, braids, and dwobbits. He felt himself straighten his posture leaving Rose’s back to lean backwards. He felt her stiffen again, giving him a side glance before resuming the small braid with quick fingers. Fíli passed her a small ribbon that would do the tying work without causing any objections from the dwarves present. He absently recalled thinking of giving Frodo one of his own beads, which reasonable would have caused a bit of an uproar between the witnesses of his hasty actions.

 

Just like she said, she stood up as soon as the braids were done, Frodo on her hip. She gave him an uncertain smile, confirming she was perceptive enough to notice his change of posture.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. I've been having little time to write and the little I have I don't use it well. I had sketched this chapter based on Bofur's pov... but it grew incredibly hard and strangely boring so I switched to Nori, getting the same if not worse result. I settled for Fili since I did want to add some fluff and it would be awkward on anyone else's view. That made me rewrite the chapter about three times and also I was forced to push to the next chapter stuff I wanted for this one. Sigh. 
> 
> Thanks for all the kudos and previous comments, they are helping a lot with the rough patch ahead. 
> 
> As always, I am very happy to read your comments! I don't mind if it is either to correct something, to share enthusiasm or just to be lovely (wink wink).


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Out of the frying pan, into the Took's den.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so very sorry for the extreme delay. Time does fly by when one's having fun (sort of). When I began the story I was also beginning my Masters... and well the workload eventually started to eat up all of my time. I feel torn because I am loving what I'm doing, but I'd also love to have extra time to dedicate to this story which is very close to my heart.  
> This is half of what I had planned for chapter 13, but I felt you waited long enough for something.  
> I'm starting my vacations in a week, so I'll use some of time to write and maybe - hopefully!- finish Wild Rose. There are millions of ideas in my mind for another thing I want to write... but! but! but! I won't until Wild Rose is finished (and not rushed!).  
> Thank you very much for those who have taken their time to send little comments and encouragements! I promise not to take as long to update!

 

It was early in the morning when an insistent knock brought Bilba – surprisingly the first to wake – from the kitchen to answer. There was a small messenger that greeted her formally, little bow and all, handing her a small letter without much further preamble. Since it was – partially – addressed to her, Bilba opened it, recognizing the penmanship.

 

Gerontious Took was well known for his booming laughter, his snarky comments, and his wide brows, but only a few cherished the delicate work of his penmanship. He alone was the author of many transcripts to be found in the Shire and he was also responsible for the translation or mere copying of many books his friends brought from trips far away. Bilba had been but a faunt when she discovered his talent. It had been late at night when she had caught him assembling a personalized copy of her favorite tales for her, making the drawings himself with extreme care and an enormous variety of inks. She had been begging him for weeks to come back with her to Bag End so they would continue their nightly ritual of story – telling. _No one makes the voices like you do_ , she had cried many times summoning her best pouts. So he had resolved to make her a small token of affection – according to his standards – that he promised would be delivered at their next name day.

 

To this day she could point out any book ever made by her grandfather without needing to examine it for long. It was true that age had brought trembles to his otherwise steady hand and the letters weren’t as perfect as they once had been, but the curls and the delicate endings were still as good as she remembered. The content of the letter was simple. It was an invitation for the spring festival – or winter end, depending on whom you asked - that would be held in the next couple of days. She avoided rolling her eyes, knowing the invitation was not needed for everyone was welcome but the message underlining it came across as clear. The Old Took was not one for sentimentalities and would not ask her to come just to check for himself if she was alright, but he would be smart enough to remind her to attend. She smiled nonetheless and left the letter by the breakfast table. It was after all addressed as well for Primrose and Frodo, though Bilba’s name had been first on the short list.

 

 

“Never mind that spring hasn’t fully arrived,” Primrose murmured when she read the missive, her eyes skipping quickly through the letters. Her eyes turned to Bilba, a sided smirk on her lips. “He must have sent it as soon as he knew you’d arrived”. Bilba smiled widely, sharing the thought. “That sentimental old coot!” Rose added fondly.

 

“Then we must jump back to Tuckborough?” Nori asked from the doorway, where he was casually leaning in. Bilba knew they had only come back from a short stay at the Great Smials. She bit her lip to avoid a chuckle from leaving her. After the quest they had sworn off the travel road unless it was strictly necessary or there were dragons involved. Gerontious Took might be fierce, but his rage rarely reached dragon level. Bilba wanted very much to go and from Nori’s knowing grin, she wasn’t hiding her desires at all.

 

It took a long visit to the Forge to make sure Karkish and Toir would not terrorize Hobbiton while the rest were gone. The guards would remain in charge of the Forge doing small trinkets that would for sure be sold not needing any individual details: nails, forks, shovels and the like. That would keep them busy but most importantly away from crossing paths with the hobbits nearby and they could yet again delay start taking commissions. It was no secret that the guards were to remain as far from the hobbit population as they could, to avoid any incident. Bilba might have lied and said Dwalin remained at Bag End to ensure some obedience but no one could really blame her for doing so.

 

During the short trip to Tuckborough, she noticed something she hadn’t before. They had been resting for a few minutes, sharing snacks and enjoying pipes filled with the blend Rose had gotten from her greenhouse. Fili had dropped by Rose’s side, which in that moment Bilba noticed was commonplace. He had been whispering something near her cousin’s ears, making a faint blush appear on her cheeks before Rose let a giggle loose. With a satisfied smirk, the blonde heir prepared his pipe carefully before offering it to Rose. Bilba dismissed it as young and careless camaraderie. Then, she noticed Dwalin stilling by her side, a deep glare on his eyes meant for the crown prince. Nori had been mumbling something, letting her catch the last of the words _Mabakh hurm_. She knew the expression for she had been at the receiving end since her relationship with Thorin became public knowledge in Erebor. _Shameless._

 

She had frowned and tried brushing it off as coincidence but it was impossible from then on to noticed how Fili and Rose seemed to be always around each other. It was like honey and flies, though she couldn’t tell which one was which. Frodo had now climbed on his aunt’s lap, burying himself in her coat for warm. Rose dropped a kiss over his dark curls, like she was prone to do, her hands pulling him closer away from the cold. There was a flicker in Fili’s eyes that Bilba caught, something that she didn’t recognize in his features. Fili brought out his small harp – the same he had taken with him through the whole journey, almost losing it many times – flickering his fingers randomly until Kili entreated her,

 

“Miss Rose, won’t you help Fili sing?” Kili chimed with a sweetness that was characteristic to precede any mischief he had planned for later. Her cousin smiled with apprehension, glancing up.

 

“I’ll start and if she deems it necessary, Primrose will come to my aid, yes?” Fili interrupted, a hand giving a light squeeze on her cousin’s knee. “Besides, she might not know the words!” Fili added teasingly, bringing a truer smile from Rose’s lips. Bilba watched the exchange like a hawk, worry growing in her stomach. It must have been how Balin felt when she would linger with Thorin at Beorn’s. She cut her thought short. Fili and Rose were probably just teasing. Both shared flirtatious natures, even if Rose’s was dimmed by the recent tragedy.

 

“Be careful, Bilba said she learns songs before you play them!” Bofur chimed from his corner, a lazy smile on his lips. And it hadn’t been an exaggeration. Rose did have a memory to be envious of and that paired with her natural knack of picking up tunes, her cousin did learn songs easier and much faster than most. It was only until the end of the tune that Rose began humming accurately along, her fingers brushing her nephew’s curly locks in rhythm.

 

It wasn’t long ‘til Dwalin jumped, barking out orders for everyone to go back to the road. Once on her pony, she fell into troubled thoughts. Her worries for her own relationship with Thorin mixed with the possibilities she had just perceived. “Auntie?” Fili’s voice called her back into the present. She turned to see him riding beside her, with a cheery smirk on his bearded lips. “Everything alright?”

 

“Of course, darling,” she assured with a smile. It must have been strained for his frown stressed over his brow with concern. “You are behaving properly, right Fili?” The question fell from her lips, his own eyes showing surprise and a hint of guilt confirming her thoughts.

 

“I- I,” he stammered before swallowing and nodding, his back suddenly straighter than Kili’s bowstring. “Always”. His lips attempted to give her his known smirk but a simple smile was all they achieved. Her lips pursed in conflict, not wanting to trouble him with accusations if there was nothing but innocent flirting. Still, she felt worried in case it weren’t.

 

“Thorin gave me a letter for grandfather, inviting him to the wedding and paying his respects,” Bilba uttered casually changing subjects. The crown prince nodded in understanding. “Apparently dwarven males pay dowries instead of receiving them?”

 

“O-Of course!” He answered with surprise. “Why should the groom get any payment when it’s he who should prove to the bride’s family he can well provide for her, when it’s she who mostly has to leave her home?” The argument had been near identical to when Thorin had explained to her why she had to travel with pouches full of gems and gold. She hummed in agreement, no matter how strange it sounded.

 

“Hobbits usually don’t give nor take dowries,” she explained. “There are gifts but long after the families have agreed to the marriage”.

 

“What kind of gifts?” Kili asked from behind, probably sensing the tension that had yet to leave Fili’s shoulders.

 

“Uhm, it varies really,” Bilba answered while she summoned to her mine those she had liked best. “Sometimes a house, sometimes a garden...”

 

“It can be as simple as a song,” Rose interrupted on the front while turning slightly without releasing her hold on Frodo. “The gifts between the couple depend on the couple, and those given by the family… well, they tend to be more traditional: things that the couple will need at home mostly.” Frodo was squirming in her hold, trying to climb his aunt’s torso to look at those riding behind. Bofur was by Rose’s side helping her keep the little one on the horse when he would slip from one of her arms. She heard Dwalin clicking for his own pony to hurry and pass by Bilba’s side. He reached Rose and without words took Frodo out of her hold – with an undignified squeak from the young Brandybuck – placing him in front of his saddle with a firm grip. “Thank you, Mister Dwalin,” Rose muttered with an embarrassed blush.

 

“He’s no different than those two,” Dwalin grumbled from his horse as he signaled to the brothers behind. “You’ll better keep your energy if you mean to keep up with the little one”. Calm silence settled for the rest of the ride.

 

They reached Tuckborough without much delay. Rose slipped by with Frodo and Bofur to the household, as Bilba was stopped several times by relations to greet her and question her about her whereabouts. Many of her younger cousins abandoned their cozy homes in order to kiss and hug her. The children followed her steps demanding stories, which she tried postponing the best she could until the festival started.

 

Kili was holding a babe that had tried climbing on Bilba’s back while she had been crouching on the floor receiving stepped on flowers from another youngling. The scene before her made her feel the familiar warmth of happiness. Fili was laughing at his brother juggling the small hobbit as others called for their turn. She was quick to warn the young heirs of Durin against playing their new favorite sport of throwing hobbits around with a glare when she saw the intention in Kili’s eyes. He sheepishly left the youngling in his parent’s care.

 

After finally reaching the familiar path of the Great Smials she wondered if perhaps it had taken the same amount of time from Bag End to Tuckborough than traveling through the labyrinth like roads of Tuckborough. Despite the cold chill that still surrounded the Shire, Bilba felt happy to be back and thoroughly welcomed. Aunt Ollie was the first to come out and take her into a familiar bear like grip, while pulling her inside the warmth of her grandfather’s home.

 

“My little Bilba!” she mumbled by her ears before starting to drop kisses on her cheeks and front. “How we missed you child!” Bilba felt unshed tears in her eyes, a knot in her throat realizing how much she had in fact been missed. It was no secret she had always felt odd at their numerous family members being far from the role she should be in Bag End. She was a hobbit too proper to be completely Tookish, and too wild to be fully Baggins. Bilba knew she was loved but she had never guessed that besides Rose and Prim she would have been that greatly missed. Aunt Ollie had taken her arm by the elbow, leading her to the kitchen, murmuring about how skinny she was and how many butter rolls she would have to eat in order to recover a healthier form. Bilba blushed and smiled under the attention.

 

“There she is!” A loud cough came from behind her that could only belong to her grandfather. She turned to be once again enveloped into another set of arms. She squeezed him tightly unable to restrain herself. A pat on her head and he let her go, before taking her hands within his. Gerontious was the same than she had left him, not counting a few wrinkles that had settled besides the older ones. Bilba had no doubt she was also under examination. Another pat, this time on her cheek and she shared the smile that split Gerontious face in two. “Aren’t you the prettiest of them all?” A watery laugh escaped her, joining Rose’s own bark of laughter, as she took her grandfather once again into a hug.

 

“Grandfather, aren’t you the sweetest?” Rose chimed as she patted the old hobbit’s back.

 

“I believe it’s my turn to greet my niece, father!” Uncle Aldagrim said as he came into view with a good hearted grin. He kissed both of her cheeks soundly before hugging her briefly and squeezing one of her hands with his. “How we missed you, Bilba,” he murmured with bright eyes. Bilba took the opportunity to discreetly wipe away the tears that had formed in the corners of her eyes. A loud noise from the kitchen made Rose skip their little reunion.

 

 _“No Frodo!”_ She didn’t have time to follow after her cousin, for food was brought to her. Bilba was taken by warm arms and little pats into the biggest of the sitting rooms, dropping her by her favorite childhood armchair. Uncle Aldagrim approached another armchair by her side for her grandfather who dismissed him with a wave of his hand and a soft hit with his cane. She was happy to see Bofur talking with her uncle in the comfortable tone one took when amongst friends. Nori had disappeared as soon as they had arrived and she didn’t doubt Dwalin was checking the proximities with the former thief. The Durin heirs had excused themselves to take their belongings into their chambers. Minutes later, only Kili came by to drop on the floor by her side. She heard a soft snore leave him as soon as he got comfortable enough to fall asleep. 

 

“I hear you’ve been giving them a hard time,” Bilba chastised her grandfather with fake reproach as she took his wrinkled hand within hers. He grumbled and let a chuckle escape him.

 

“It can’t all be hot buns and ale when one’s granddaughter is stolen!” He retorted teasingly with a twinkle in his eyes. “You will stay for more than a few days, won’t you girl?” He asked softly avoiding, her eyes. Bilba squeezed his hand with hers, a smile spreading like butter on her lips.

 

“As long as you’ll have me,” she replied honestly. “After all, I need you to help me with a project before I return”. He coughed harshly, while taking a perfectly embroidered handkerchief from his pocket.

 

“You will have to tell me of this _Thorin_ you’re marrying,” he continued after nodding to her request. She giggled at his tone, for she knew if anyone in The Shire had read about Erebor, it was her grandfather. “He may be King of all the gold in the world, but I won’t consent for any marriage until I hear the right proposal!”

 

“Grandfather,” she chimed with a soft smile, warm and fuzzy inside for his concern. “He wanted very much to come and I’m sure when everything in Erebor is settled we could escape for a –“

 

 _“After_ the wedding! After everything’s settled! When I won’t be able to complain! When I might as well be dead! You younglings think all those around you are as young as you and will last as long as you wish us to!” He grumbled between coughs. He wrinkled hand grabbed one of hers tightly leaning forward. A familiar weight settled on her excited stomach, reminding her how she had feared that he wouldn’t be there to welcome her. Her eyes began to collect tears that she blinked away.

 

“He sent a letter to you, for your blessing,” she mumbled softly, eyes cast on their joint hands. “He really wanted for you to meet him and -”

 

“Bilba, it’s been a while since I began to grow old,” Gerontious interrupted squeezing the hand under his hold with a beatific smile on his face. There was some sadness in his eyes. “I just want to make sure when I leave, my girls will be safe and looked after”. She couldn’t help but to jump into his arms and hug him tightly to her chest, wishing to all the deities she knew that they would let them keep him for a little while longer. “You are a smart girl. I don’t care if he’s King under the stars, or whatever ridiculous name he may gain. I trust you. If you say you love him, then he’s as good as spring.” 

 

“He is, grandfather. He’s all I’d been waiting for,” she murmured feeling like a small child. Missing yet again the parents that had left her too early on.

 

“Then, that’s enough for me,” she felt like a child once again as she felt his aged lips kissing her forehead sweetly with a small pat on her cheek.

 

It didn’t take long for food to come and go. The ale ran freely with the stories everyone was willing to share over filled bellies in the dining room. Once again she cherished the happiness she felt at the moment with so many of her loved ones in one place. Auntie Ollie was merrily brushing Frodo’s head on her lap, while she chastised Uncle Aldagrim for not finishing his greens before starting the meat pie. Nori kept sending little threats to Dwalin over Ori while Bofur tried to change subjects. Kili and Fili were once again at both sides of Rose, sharing jokes and some lewd stories that kept Rose’s cheeks bright red and easy giggles escaping her ruby lips. Bilba had forgotten about Fili’s and Rose’s closeness until he had casually pulled a loose curl behind Rose’s ear, while sharing a heated glance that turned her own blood cold. Bilba sobered up quickly and suddenly called for a meeting – the only thing coherent that managed to reach her lips – to discuss dwarven business.

 

“I’m sure it can wait ‘til tomorrow Bilba,” Kili slurred from his seat with slightly drunken eyes.

 

“Nonsense!” She cried as she stood up quickly, a dizzy spell taking her mind for a second. “Errr… tomorrow the festivities will begin and we won’t have enough time to make a united front!” It seemed like a reasonable, plausible explanation that she would later congratulate herself for. Fili stood, brushing wrinkles from his buttoned shirt as he nodded.

 

“Bilba’s right, we should try putting matters on the table,” He agreed, shaking his whiskers as he nodded vigorously. “Master Took, if it’s alright with you of course,” he added sheepishly. Gerontious gave a suspicious glance to Bilba to which she responded with a smile.

 

“It would do no wrong to settle matters before the rest arrives,” he agreed, walking slowly in direction of his study. They sat in silence for some minutes, while Rose handed over small cups of tea. Kili’s eyes had closed minutes before and he only woke up startled when he heard Rose pass him by.

 

“I’ve been speaking with Bil- Miss Baggi-,”

 

“There’s no need to reintroduce the subject, lad,” Gerontious interrupted Fili while waving his hand and taking a large gulp of tea. “I will help you sponsor this bright idea of yours, if only to please the girls,” Bilba rolled her eyes as the Old Took winked at her.

 

“How many people would you be willing to send?” Fili asked as he scribbled in a small notepad he gathered from the many pockets of his trousers.

 

“Will I be willing to send?” He echoed and too late Bilba understood the divergence within both male’s thoughts. “I’m afraid you haven’t understood, master dwarf. I’m not sending anyone.”

 

“But you said-“ Fili began but was yet again interrupted. Bilba noticed Rose’s concerned glances as the Old Took was also begging to get exasperated. Perhaps suggesting a meeting after a meal was not the best of her ideas.

 

“I said I would _sponsor_ you, but my word is not for ordering or disposing without the rest of the head clan’s agreement!” The previous grumbling tone was quick to change as voices began to rise.

 

“Surely, your word must mean something to the others?” Fili stressed with his stance too straight to be comfortable, yet not meeting Gerontious rising tone. Bilba had seen the short lived relief on his shoulders when her grandfather had agreed into helping. Now his shoulders were as tense as they were when they arrived.

 

“We have no kings, lad. I’m sure my Bilba must have at least told you this.” Gerontious replied shuffling in his seat, giving Bilba a stern glance. “I can and will make suggestions and they will be heard, but without the other clan heads, only the odd will answer your call”.

 

“Grandfather,” Bilba warned softly, knowing the Old Took was prone to worry the young with his dramatic ways. It couldn’t possibly be as dire as the picture he was giving the dwarves. They might not have kings but the Old Took was as well –if not more – respected than one. Only perhaps Primrose’s other grandfather or her own Baggins relatives would dare to make a fuss. The first would do it just to annoy Gerontious and the seconds for decorum’s sake.

 

“Bilba will help with the proper side of Hobbiton, though they won’t come for sure. Rose will help with that old ferret at the side of the Brandywine,” He continued nonchalant, reading easily Bilba’s expressions.  The Old Took was also prone to petty fighting with the head of the Brandybucks.

 

“Grandfather!” Primrose cried giving her grandfather a pointed stare at the same time Bilba hid behind her hands muttering something that sounded like ‘not again’.

 

“Yes, pretty girl. Be lucky you are more Took than Brandybuck. Even _you_ wouldn’t be as pretty with those crocked teeth he gifts his children or those fetching ears,” He gave a booming hit on the floor with his cane to make his point while raising his eyebrows.

 

“Gerontious!” Rose cried glaring at her grandfather trying to defend the other one absent. “Not again with this nonsense!”

 

“Then you have no say?” Fili asked, attempting to break their little dispute and go to the matter at hand. He must be terribly confused, Bilba thought to herself. She had stressed before that the support of the Thain was the biggest goal of their trip, that without him, everything could fall as easily as a castle of cards. So it fell upon Bilba to answered him, since the Thain in question was distracted looking haughtily like a small child at his other granddaughter while she glared daggers at him.

 

“ _No,_ what grandfather is trying to say but hasn’t been able to communicate well, is that he will give support to our petition yet it would be better to have other clans behind us when we propose it over open council.” She explained while giving coaxing stares at her family, urging them to stop their irrelevant fighting. “We have no kings, so there is no hobbit with sufficient authority to order anyone to move without exceptional circumstances.”

 

“This one had me fooled. I thought Bungo had won but I see my little Bella in there, quick tongue and all”. Gerontious had grown prone to ramble away from topics with ease. He was quick to prepare his pipe and lit it before returning to the conversation. “We’ll have to go to speak with the child they named mayor last year.”

 

“ _Fosco_ is not a child,” Rose once again retorted in outrage. Now, Bilba understood. If Fosco was indeed the new mayor of Michel Delving then it was normal that her grandfather’s feathers would be ruffled and that Rose would be overly sensitive and protective.

 

 “He’s _barely_ older than you,” Old grandfather Gerontious countered eyes smugly up his brow.  Rose rolled her eyes, annoyed.

 

“He’s very well – prepared, he has a calm temper, he’s not harsh of thought-“

 

“Then you might have as well married him when he was still sniffing around your skirts for all you defend him!”

 

“He has never been sniffing anything! He’s _my friend!”_

 

“Said the wolf to the sheep!”

 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

 

“Don’t think _I_ didn’t notice when he left in those ungodly hours!”

 

“That was _Drogo!_ I was barely a tween! And you never said anything _to Primula_!”

 

“And what about the tomatoes he sends every spring with those silly quotes of his?”

 

“He is Frodo’s uncle! And I like tomatoes!”

 

“Oh yes, it’s the _tomatoes_ you like!”

 

“Enough, both of you!” Bilba chastised with authority. She took a deep breath, examining their options. “Grandfather, if what you are saying is correct then perhaps it would be wiser of us to start traveling already, to have the heads on our side before the spring council?” Gerontious harrumphed from his wide armchair, a small glare in Rose’s direction.

 

“If you _must_ know, I invited them all,” Gerontious drawled childishly from his seat, giving Rose a small short – lived smug. “No reason in having you running around the Shire with all that snow when I can stuff their mouths of venison and their bellies with ale until you convince them silly!”

 

“ _You_ made invitations?” Rose stuttered incredulously, dark eyebrows rising high on her forehead _. “You_ who said they were a smug attempt of begging when one was bound to be stood up? That you needn’t need to call for they would come at the smell of food? You made invitations?”

 

“I appreciate that you are able to remember my words so accurately when it’s convenient,” The Old Took grumbled as he tightened his hold on his cane. “ _Your boy_ asked if Frodo would be here”. The suggestive tone was enough to make Rose snap like the string of a well-made bow.

 

_“Fosco’s not my boy!”_

 

“Yet when I said your boy, you didn’t think of anyone else!”

 

“He’s his only uncle! He was asking for _his_ nephew!”

 

“Yes, the one you conveniently have attached to your hip!”

 

“You are insufferable!”

 

“May I remind you, you left your tweens long ago!”

_“That makes centuries for you!_ ” Rose snapped right back with the quickness of a whip.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: An explanation to avoid confusion, since Dudo Baggins sounded kind of silly, in the name of fanfiction I decided to change names of Drogo’s brother to Fosco (his father’s name I believe).
> 
> Translations:
> 
> Mabakh Hurm: I took a bit of license to play with words since I found none that fitted ‘Shameless’. So I took Mabakh: zero and Hurm: the root of the word honor.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of dancing, drinking and public relations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to the lovely crashlandthetardis for beta-ing :)
> 
> Perhaps I’ve been away long enough to think differently but I’ve been having difficulty staying in one point of view. So this time we’ll be testing if various POVs work for me. Let me know if anything turns confusing.

 

“Who’s Fosco?” It was Kìli who asked, stealing the question from his lips. Fìli hadn’t liked the implications of the Old Took but even less the protectiveness of Rose’s tone. His brother, always attune to his emotions, was quick to interrogate Bilba.

 

“Fosco is Drogo’s younger brother,” Bilba murmured later when Rose finally snapped and left the room. “Apparently, he was elected major of Michel Delving last year.” She was absently checking the papers her grandfather had left spread across the table for them to examine. The Old Took had no interest in ordering anything, but he already had a guideline planned for the moment everyone agreed in helping Erebor.

 

“Is that good for us?” Bofur questioned, his reasoning more related to their business transaction than Fìli’s inner wish of knowing who Fosco was and what role he played in Primrose’s life. He shook his thoughts away, trying to focus on the task his uncle had set upon him. Thorin would not be impressed if he was distracted by the flutter of flowery skirts. It would not matter how beautiful or witty the owner of those skirts was.

 

“Sure, Rose is right, he knows a good thing when he sees it,” Fìli frowned, unsure if there was some double entendre between Bilba’s words but refrained from adding questions of his own, especially since he could not make them sound work related.  Bilba sighed loudly, unaware of his thoughts. She smiled at the company before resuming her explanation. “He’s my cousin as well as one of Rose’s dearest friends, so even if he disagrees he won’t be publicly bashing,” Bilba offered with a slight smile.  “With Rose on your side, he wouldn’t dare to make her upset.”

 

“He seems to care a great deal for Miss Rose,” Nori noted innocently – though the present company knew him too well to believe it- , his eyes on Fìli’s blue narrowed ones. The crown prince glared. Bilba however didn’t fall into the trap the smuggler was setting. She tsked with her tongue loudly.

 

“Those are rumors, nothing more” A quick pinch on the ear had Nori complaining loudly about aggressive hobbits.

 

Fìli didn’t see Primrose that night nor the morning after. He woke early but she had already left under her grandfather’s instructions to help the preparations for the festival. Bilba however, he found on the breakfast table nursing a cup of strong tea in both of her hands.

 

“Mistress Boggins!” He greeted, making her flinch. She gave him a look that reminded him of his uncle, prompting his chuckle.

 

“I thought the days of name confusion were long behind us, Kìli!” She retorted cheekily. He took another cup from the pantry, serving himself tea from the hot pot and prepared a quick toast.

 

“You wound me, auntie,” he mocked, mouth half full.

 

“No talking with your mouth full,” she chastised after rolling her eyes at his antics. It took them half of the morning to prepare for their rapidly approaching meeting with the rest of the family’s heads.  There were too many names, too many flowers and far too many relations for him to be completely confident he would succeed in remembering anything. He was grateful that Kìli had been sent away to help for his brother’s natural knack for messing up names would rub off in the most unfortunate of times.

 

Bilba very much enjoyed becoming their general in what was to be expected, from the way to shake hands – apparently dwarven shakes were deemed aggressive – to never ever take the first serving of a dish no matter how many times it was offered but especially to never mistake one family name with another. Lesser family wars had started with a slip. Not wars that he could fight himself out of, mind you. Hobbit – wars of familial relations sided in the passive aggressive decline of invitations, or the impromptu visits of family members, and Mahal forbid the reduction of the biscuit rations in a tea party. Aunt Ollie would appear from time to time to tsk away his mistakes or give pointed glances to Bilba.

 

Primrose didn’t appear until lunch, cheeks flushed and a pretty smile on her face with Frodo on her hip. Kìli came laughing behind her, making faces at Frodo when he turned. “Oh their faces, Bilba!” Kìli announced dramatically. Rose laughed openly while shaking her head, making her curls tremble merrily.

 

“What did you do?” Bilba asked narrowing her eyes, fighting a lost battle with her turned lips.

 

“Nothing of consequence, cousin,” Primrose reassured, letting Frodo on the floor for him to run straight to Fìli’s arms. “He just juggled with Aunt Flora’s flower pots”.

 

“Kìli!” Bilba reprimanded without her heart into it as she dissolved in giggles. “Did she faint?” Primrose nodded as she fought her own fit of giggles. Frodo was currently climbing on his shoulders, pulling braids as he went.

 

“Fiii! Fiii!” he squealed loudly in his ears making him wince between chuckles. Fìli was quick to capture him face down, hands away from his beads but feet inconveniently on his face.

 

“Aunt Flora Brandybuck, eldest daughter of …” he murmured picturing the tree, while twitching away from Frodo’s shaking bare feet. Primrose gave him an encouraging smile. “The eldest of your aunts by your father’s side?” She beamed, hand on his forearm for a second too long, before Kìli interrupted by taking Frodo from Fìli’s hold. A small glance from his brother told Fìli he had been caught staring again. Bilba however made no comment, just started recovering the drawings she had made to help him.

 

“Brandybucks are tricky,” Bilba conceded. “Names do tend to repeat more often than not”.

 

“She’s extremely proud of her flower pots,” Primrose added with a smile. “She doesn’t care much for plants but she’s too fond of telling stories about how she became their owner to not participate in any flower competition”. Her eyes suddenly widened impossibly, looking at Bilba. “You don’t know!”

 

“I don’t know what?” The eldest of the two asked confused.

 

“Oh Bilba!” She squealed grabbing hands within her own, eyes twinkling with undisputed happiness. “You will never guess what she brought last summer!”

 

“Oh, that’s a tricky one,” Bilba remarked with a ferocious grin on her lips. Primrose’s enthusiasm was contagious and had everyone in the room sharing smirks and grins. “The year before she brought those mint leaves she cut out off of the road,” she mused, pursing her lips, still smiling.

 

“Pure, unaltered dirt!” Primrose exclaimed, not being able to contain the answer further. Bilba laughed loudly, her eyes gathering tears and leaning towards her cousin for support. “You should have seen great granduncle Tim, he turned blue when he realized there weren’t even seeds!”

 

“What was she thinking?”

 

“Apparently she had just repainted the poppies on the white flower pot and she couldn’t resist bringing it!” Primrose gushed between giggles. “Not even a worm inside!”

 

“These hobbits do have a particular sense of humor, don’t they brother?” Kìli whispered besides him, a battling Frodo in his grasp. He nodded, shaking his head a bit, avoiding getting caught staring again.

 

“Rose, darling girl, did I hear Augustus right?” Uncle Aldagrim called before entering the room. Primrose blushed before coyly nodding her uncle’s way. Fìli turned to his brother for information, but the youngest of the Durin line just smirked knowingly.

 

“It’s a surprise, darling brother,” he whispered in his ear as he let Frodo go to the floor.

 

“What is it?” Bilba questioned curiously glancing between her uncle and cousin.

 

“Augustus made me swear secrecy dearest Bilba!” Aldagrim declared with raised hands, a mischievous glint in his eyes. When he left the room, Bilba was quick to question Primrose.

 

“It’s a surprise?” The youngest of the Brandybuck’s muttered before escaping her cousin’s curiosity. Kìli snickered, obviously distracted with the small hobbit at his feet. Frodo decided to climb back onto dwarven shoulders.

 

Rose was very pleased with how the evening was developing. Grandfather’s speech had been successful, a lovely introduction to their dwarven friends without giving away the whole reason behind their trip. Bilba had then proceeded to act as some sort of unofficial hostess, taking them to meet the most influential hobbits assisting, which were numerous.

 

Fìli acted like the prince he was, smiling courteously, repeating names as he was being introduced, dropping heart felt compliments and offering his assistance whenever the need arose. Kìli was being equally charming. Dwalin had remained aloof but Bilba had begun sharing stories of his bravery that had many hobbit lasses looking at him with eyes twinkling in idolization. Bofur was making friends easily as he gave away little trinkets for children, keeping a special eye on Frodo – which she would thank him for profusely – and Nori appeared and disappeared randomly.

 

At the very beginning Uncle Augustus had been pleased to announce her return to the music arrangement for the night. There were many who gave praises beforehand, which naturally made her nervous. A small family of fluttering butterflies was now residing in the pit of her belly. She took a deep breath before mounting on the stage, grabbing a violin and following cousin Poppy’s lead.

 

All night she had stayed on her sanctuary, avoiding stopping if only to change her instrument. She brushed away dancing invitations due to her commitment to the musical ambiance. Rose was forced to close her eyes many times to keep her concentration on the instrument in her hands. It had been a long time since she played anything and she admitted with regret that her fingers were rusty and even if no one was willing to recognize it they had slipped a couple notes from time to time. It wasn’t that she was distracted. No, not at all. She was most definitively not distracted by the occasional glimpses she would get from Fìli’s untamed mane, nor how his metal beads would twinkle when the light hit them in the right way signaling his position.

 

Primrose was most definitively not annoyed at how her darling cousin Acacia was eyeing him while she fluttered her long eyelashes one too many times. And Rose could swear she had lowered the cleavage of her dress while Rose had had her eyes closed. Currently Rose was standing, which gave her the perfect position for seeing when Acacia stood from her end of the table, intent on dancing with the blond dwarf. Rose didn’t know she had dropped the instrument into one of her relation’s hands until she was passing through the crowds to collect Fìli.

 

She saw him standing and for a second she considered she was late, that perhaps Acacia had already snatched him away. But he was alone, for a little while at least. Her butterflies fluttered dangerously.

 

“Master Dwarf! You are not planning on leaving, are you?” She greeted from behind him, making him spin and grin silly, obvious happiness in his dimples. She was happy to be a pleasant surprise. “She took his hand and Fìli didn’t resist being kidnapped if for a little while. She brought him to a personal hiding spot away from other couples, wishing for privacy.

 

“Are we being hunted?” He asked, his lips dangerously close to her ears. She took a step away for her own sanity’s sake before biting her lower lip nervously.

 

“You owe me a dance!” She declared, hands on her hips to stablish her determination. His smirk grew wider.

 

“I thought dance floors were made for that very purpose,” he teased, immediately making her blush. She could not admit that she wanted him off the dance floor to avoid her grabby cousins trying to make a claim on him. And Rose was most definitively ready to make such a public claim on Fìli in front of most of her family and relations.

 

“It’s not proper to dance more than one piece with a male that’s neither your husband nor kin,” she recited, thinking herself smart for using Aunt Ollie’s rules of proper courting in her own favor. Since she had been but a fauntling, Aunt Ollie had been delighted to sit her on her lap for hours while she repeated the propriety of relations. It took her perhaps a bit longer than a minute to realize her own comment would bite her back.

 

“Isn’t presumptuous of you to assume we’ll be dancing more than one piece?” He questioned, faking outrage and innocence. She could do nothing but shove him.

 

She could honestly say she hadn’t meant to skip away from the festivities for snogging, but only realized the possibility once they were alone and he took her without hesitance into his arms yet again. Instead of rashness, he kissed her ever so slowly, his tongue caressing and tasting her as one would a cup of sweet wine. His hands were bolder than any of their previous trysts, traveling from the sides of her covered breasts to settle by her waist, pressing her further into him. More than once she heard herself whispering his name in pleasure and he would say sweet endearments dangerously close to her ears.

 

She bit his lower lip, making him groan and tighten his hold on her hips. She felt the silky fabric of her skirts gathering under his fingers. She gave a moan of her own when he left her mouth and went to suckle the tender skin beneath her jaw, lowering the motion until he was a few inches from her cleavage. Her hands had been scratching his neck at the join with his breast bone. Rose pressed herself fully to his touch, yearning to be able to feel him fully without so much fur, silk and leather between them. A whimper with his name escaped her when his tongue abandoned her collarbone completely.

 

“Would ear ticking be proper now, blushing Primrose?” His warm breath was killing her softly as it brushed her ears gently. She was tempted to accept. Her hands tangled into his beard, bringing his mouth close to her and far away from her pointy ears.

 

“No,” Rose murmured kissing him softly on the lips. She felt him detract faintly from her hold, his eyes loosing part of the lust that had invaded them from their first kiss. “Not yet,” she corrected pressing her lips to his own, pushing away any uncertainty from his stance. When he didn’t complain, and she felt a smile curl at his lips she resumed the attack to his lower lip, suckling and embracing it with her own. His fingers were struggling with the laces on the front of her dress.

 

“Dancing,” she finally muttered, pushing his fingers away from where she wanted them. “We came here for dancing,” she elaborated with shortened breath when he opened his confused blue orbs.

 

“Dancing,” he echoed slowly, a silly grin on his face. His hands then traveled slowly to her waist, collecting her and pulling her impossibly close to his chest. He leaned his head until his large nose was bumping into hers. “We’ve been dancing since I met you,” he whispered softly, his whiskers tickling her lips. He had begun swaying them to the slowest rhythm that came from inside the barn. She closed the space between their lips, kissing him sweetly as he continued to lead in simple steps.

 

Then and there she was the happiest she had been in a long time. Not everything made sense but she felt herself fitting into something entirely hers for the very first time.

 

Another awkward cough interrupted them harshly. They both turned to the now opened door, still captured in each other’s hold. “If it had been anyone but me…” Kìli said with fake reproachful tone in his voice, a hint of a smirk on the corner of his thin lips. Fìli chuckled over her neck, giving her a tiny fluttering kiss before letting her get away to recover from her embarrassment. No one needed to tell Rose she was blushing, for she felt the heat of her cheeks. “Some lad was looking for Rose,” Kìli continued further, his eyes looking up to the clear sky to give them some privacy to recollect themselves. Fìli grunted at his brother’s words. She smiled in spite herself, finding the jealousy endearing. She gave in to her urges and kissed him fully, taking him by surprise. His hands brushed her cheeks like they had done moments ago, murmuring her name softly with the same reverence. Kìli forced another cough, making her giggle and break away.

 

“Sorry,” Rose offered bashfully, making the youngest of the brothers roll his eyes. Fìli helped brush back her hair to its original place, while she did the buttons she had undone from his own tunic. His warm thumb traced the hem of her cleavage as he pulled it up slightly, giving her a heated glance. Poor Kìli snapped.

 

“I’m serious! Bilba’s also looking for you, but I sent her the other way. Stop and put it back in your pants!”  He hissed from the door as he looked inside, making sure no one was coming. Rose sighed with frustration, looking at her dress to detect any other sign of impropriety. Fìli stepped back and mimicked her, fixing the disrupted braids of his whiskers. Suddenly the music inside changed rhythms to one she recognized well. With a full grin, she took Fìli’s hand within her own and made a grab for Kìli’s as well as she pulled them into the barn. She pushed between the hobbits surrounding the dance floor, her hold slipping from the dwarves as she reached her objective.  Her cousins and friends had already begun thumping their bare feet on the ground to the music with the brothers learned to mimic easily.

 

It wasn’t until the song was done that she remembered she was wanted by someone.  With perfect timing she was found yet again.

 

“My sweetling!” A booming and surprisingly gravelly voice called from the crowds. Rose grinned widely in response, trying to locate the source as she glanced around the room.

 

“Fosco!” She greeted as she ran to meet him quickly if a bit childishly. Fosco took her quickly in his arms, spinning her around and gaining unapproving stares from those around. Whispers would begin soon enough, Fìli thought, displeased at the nearness of Rose to the male. Bilba had said there were no romantic notions but a childhood friendship behind the close contact. Yet he couldn’t help but to think this Fosco held her a bit too long and his hands were too low on her waist. Kìli nudged him and it made him realize he was openly glaring at the intruder. “I was wondering when you’d grace us with your presence!” Rose chimed, taking the male’s hand within hers and pulling him to the dwarves.

 

“Do not frown nor worry for me, lovely girl! Wrinkles don’t settle well with beautiful maidens,” Fosco took her hand to his lips giving it a sound kiss, which made Rose giggle in delight. Fìli regretted leaving his blade then. “Now, where is our nephew? Have you been taking good care of him?”

 

“He’s being smothered by one of your sisters I believe,” Rose answered wistfully, the smile that Fosco had summoned never leaving her face. There was no trace of that inevitable nostalgia that was frequent to see in her eyes.

 

“What a lucky little fellow, always surrounding by lovely girls!” Fosco exclaimed, his eyes jumping around perhaps to see a trace of his nephew and sisters. His eyes turned back and finally noticed Bilba. “My, my! Sweet cousin! Miss Bilba! I am sorry for taking so long to greet you,” Finally the obnoxious hobbit let go of Rose’s hand to take Bilba in a hug and kiss one her cheeks. “You were greatly missed, an even greater debt of untold stories has grown in your absence at remarkable speed!”

 

“I’ll make sure to begin payment as soon as you are all accommodated,” Bilba returned in good humor, her cheeks blushing at the attention. At this, Fìli noticed Dwalin had made a rare appearance and was not looking at the newcomer with kind eyes.

 

“Weren’t you supposed to arrive tomorrow?” Rose asked worriedly.

 

“Yes, thank you! Now! The real reason in my quickness,” a dramatic clap of hands that had Fìli urging himself not to roll his eyes and Fosco had Rose’s hand back within his own. “I wanted you to be the witness of marvel, dearest!” He pulled from the bag at his shoulder a shiny, big, ruby red tomato. Kìli stifled a bark of laughter besides Fìli.

 

“Tomatoes!” Rose said with a sheepish grin and a faint blush. The Old Took’s accusations were growing truer and truer by the second. “Fosco! You really shouldn’t have! You must have paid a little fortune for one this size!” Fìli was beginning to go over to Old Took’s side, feeling particularly scorned with the attention she was handing so easily and so publicly to her supposed friend. Not even an hour ago she had been safely tucked within his hold and now she was happily grabbing hands and gushing about enormous, silly tomatoes with another male.

 

“Taste! Taste and I’ll explain its provenance,” Fosco looked at Rose expectantly until she shrugged and took a bite from the tomato. When the juice dripped at the sides of her lips, it was yet again Fosco who jumped at the opportunity to hand her a neat handkerchief.

 

“Valar!” Rose moaned as she swallowed the last bit. Her pink tongue slipped out to clean the remains of the tomato on her lips. Kìli coughed and nudged him from staring as he followed her tongue around in spite of the anger simmering deep in his veins. Again.

 

“The name of the godly should be taken as a compliment, yes?” Fosco questioned with excitement. Rose hummed in approval as she took another juicy bite. “Would you believe me if I said it came from my green house?”

 

“Before you two begin comparing the recipes of the perfect manure, I think I should make the introductions,” Bilba cut off and Fìli would have kissed her for stopping the scene from developing further. “First of all, Fosco! Congratulations are in order, darling boy!” The prick had the nerve to look all coy and modest, brushing away the compliments Bilba bestowed him under Rose’s adoring eyes.

 

Fìli felt Kìli nudging him and it was then he realized Fosco had a politely extended hand in front of him. “Fìli, son of Bali and Dis, Crown Prince of Erebor, heir of the King under the mountain, of the noble line of Durin,” Nori recited dramatically by his side, a well hidden smirk under his bushy whiskers. Fìli bowed ceremoniously forgoing Fosco’s offered hand. Bilba gave him a murderous glance before smiling. Rose however was looking confused.

 

“That is an introduction if I ever heard one!” Fosco exclaimed with a chuckle. “Now Primrose, about the tomatoes…” They went deep into discussions of manure as Fosco pushed her away from Fìli with an arm surrounding her waist. Kìli nudged him once again, breaking his glare to the back of Fosco’s head.

 

“What in the name of the Valar was that?” Bilba shrieked at his side.

 

“We assumed a more traditional approach would be beneficial,” he answered dryly, his eyes still focusing on the pair who had gone to greet the Old Took.

 

“A more traditional approach?” Bilba echoed, annoyed, a glare in place. Bofur broke the preaching, taking Bilba’s arm within his own –  a shriek of complaint from Bilba included - , leading her back to the table they had been sitting at earlier.

 

“I wouldn’t worry ‘bout the lad,” Nori slurred by his side, smirk in place as he gave a knowing glance to Primrose and Fosco laughing with mirth. Kìli gave him an encouraging pat in the back.

 

“Yeah, we can take him easily,” Kìli agreed, nodding while taking offered tankards of ale for the three of them. “I doubt he can even hold a sword properly!”

 

“I could discreetly make him disappear,” Nori continued, his whiskers accompanying the growing smirk. “If it pleased his highness of course”. Tempting, but not feasible. Fìli was not yet as desperate as that.

 

“I appreciate the offer,” Fìli murmured with a halfhearted grin. “Though I don’t think we need to resort to a murder attempt just yet”. Nori let out a loud bark of laughter, raising his tankard before disappearing within the crowd

 

“I think they’re just friends,” Kìli added with a lopsided smile. “The curly fellow might be aspiring for more but he’s late, ain’t he?” They walked up to the table, Kìli dropping by Bilba’s side. Fìli was about to sit by his brother, but noticed another place opening in a much preferred position.

 

“He might not know it, so I’ll inform him.” Fìli told his little brother before taking the place Fosco had vacated seconds before by Primrose’s side.

 

“Aren’t you qui-,“ she turned to him surprised, her cheeks a lovely shade of pink due to the heat inside the barn. She smiled at him just the same but he failed to return it. “Fosco was just getting us drinks,” she explained, brushing loose locks away from her eyes.

 

“If you’re thirsty, you may have some from mine,” he offered his own, pushing it closer to her remembering the lessons Bilba had drilled into him earlier. Primrose blushed, looking away.

 

“If you want to cause uproar,” she whispered softly while smiling to one of her cousins. “I believe I heard Bilba telling you about sharing cutlery, drinks…”

 

“You don’t mind sharing with Fosco,” he murmured softly.

 

Fìli felt her hand at the side of his calling his attention, her fingers barely brushing against his. He found her looking at him discreetly concerned, while keeping a tight smile on her face to avoid questioning from those seating nearby. He might not have appeared as relaxed about Fosco as he wanted to be in front of her. He could not help it.

 

There might not have been a name to what they were or what they were doing but he could no longer deny there was something more than simple attraction. He cared not only for being the receiving end of her kisses but he also wished for every ounce of her attention. Dwarves were indeed greedy creatures, though as a racial characteristic it was difficult to deviate from it. Hadn’t he criticized his own uncle for his possessiveness over Bilba?

 

“Fosco is Drogo’s brother,” she said softly, trying to look inconspicuous while reading his emotions clear in his face. “He’s my oldest friend,” she added as her other hand toyed with the fabric of her skirts nervously.

 

“He’s very keen on you,” he observed softly annoyed. She rolled her eyes at his tone.

 

“And I love him very much,” Rose answered, strained, the smallest of her fingers touching his with more pressure. “If I’d had a  _brother_ , I’d wish for him to be like Fosco. He’s the Kìli to my Fìli,” she smiled hopefully at the comparison. It was his time to roll his eyes.

 

“I hope you are not trying to imply that I flirt with my brother,” he hissed dryly, pushing her hand away.

 

“Hate to interrupt, but the fair lady asked for sweet wine!” The object of his torment appeared from behind, unfazed by his occupied chair. He gave Primrose a full cup with a smile. “You should try it too Master dwarf – err, prince Fìli -, … it’s from my uncle’s private stock. The best thing in Arda many rangers have claimed!” He added cheerfully, while offering the cup he had obviously brought for himself to Fìli. It was Primrose who took it, as Fìli made no movement whatsoever to do so. Fosco didn’t seem to mind as he fluttered away easily while greeting other relatives.

 

“Fìli, stop being an idiot, we have always been like siblings,” she hissed back, pushing her hand back to his lap with determination.

 

“He doesn’t seem to need a sister,” Fìli retorted feeling like the petulant child he had never been. “I seem to recall he has at least three”. 

 

“Yes, he and his wife have many sisters between them,” Rose added casually while smiling, as if she had been hearing the joke at the end of the table that had most of its occupants barking with laughter. He grunted, placing his hand boldly over hers, not minding who saw it. To their advantage ale had been running high from early hours and most hobbits – and most dwarves, he loathed to admit – were far too far drunk to even consider the impropriety in holding hands. She gave him a small glare, eyebrow raised. He brushed his fingers over her pulse, giving her the hint of a smile.

 

“I’m sorry,” he muttered approaching her ears. Rose sighed and hummed, pleased as she continued smiling with a bit of twinkle. She turned her hand beneath his, placing both of them on her lap while intertwining their fingers, away from the prying eyes of the sober.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one came faster than expected. I just had my wisdom teeth pulled this week and I'm using my resting time for writing. Apparently pain killers do well as muses. Go figure.


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